A Crumbling Façade
by HARPG0
Summary: Wolfram's life hangs by a thread. Can Murata save him? And, if so, what will Yuuri do?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note**: I do not own KKM or the characters. This is just for fun and no profit. Also, this story is a bit of an experiment for me. So, that means you might not like the pairing or the ending. So, I'd suggest reading the final chapter first if you wish.

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A Crumbling Façade

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"I don't need a friend who changes when I change and who nods when I nod;

my shadow does that much better."  
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~ Plutarch  
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"I'm sorry about everything," Wolfram confessed, not caring in the slightest who could hear him. Tentatively, he reached a bandaged hand out to Murata Ken only to receive a slight, almost imperceptible shake of the head "no." He immediately withdrew, respecting it.

"I'm not…" the sage returned, trying not to notice the long bandage still on Wolfram's jaw and the gaunt way about him "…not sorry, I mean." And he wasn't. But, now, at the eleventh hour, there was very little to say beyond that.

This was it, he knew. It was goodbye.

This room in Shinou's Temple was called "The White Room"—a place for healing in both body and spirit. It held a damp but pleasant coolness with ivory tapestries billowing away from the walls. A rectangular pool took up the far end of the room with goldfish swimming lazily. Occasionally, one would jump, making a splash. A large, round nephrite jade altar dominated the center, eight waist-high unwrought stone pillars supported the weight of what was originally a place of animal sacrifice. Shinou, while on his travels, had discovered it in a cave and insisted upon taking it with him on his travels, sensing the power emanating from within. Once in Shin Makoku, he presented it to the shrine maidens and ordered it cleansed.

It took three hundred years

Murata put a hand to his head. The headache was blinding and he wondered, not for the first time, if he could actually do this. He glanced to the right corner of the room and saw Shinou in shadow, quietly observing him with his cape tossed carelessly over one shoulder. There was a sense of support. And Murata met eyes with him, thanking him for giving him that much.

Recently, The Original King and Murata had come to an understanding of sorts. The spirit had watched and waited, moved beyond his boyish teasing and seemed to enjoy a new role which was, more or less, approved by Murata. Shinou was taking on a more "advisory" position within the temple—helping Ulrike with the sacred texts, guiding new shrine maidens who saw themselves as unworthy, and even passing along the occasional word of encouragement to the guards. It was amazing how they reacted to such small crumbs of praise.

Peace was welcomed. But all of those things had happened at the temple right before this…

Murata looked back to Wolfram, met eyes briefly, and then took his forearm, helping him recline on the altar. Easing him down.

It was time.

The sage took a staff, borrowed from Ulrike, and bowed to the small, holy woman with great effort. She, in turn, clasped her hands together—hoping to send him her good thoughts and strength.

He would need them.

Murata, exhausted and worn-down as he was, managed to draw a circle around the altar with a brunette shrine maiden, crouching low on hands and knees, following the line with a piece of chalk. Behind her was her sister with a mix of herbs in a basket—smelling of cloves, sage, and meadowsweet. The chalk was thoroughly sprinkled.

Standing near the open door was Gunther, Gwendal, Conrad, and Yozak. Ulrike took her place beside them while the faces of many shrine maidens peered through the doorway. Murata gestured to the side and invited Yuuri to come closer with the instruction. "Step over the line and do not leave until I tell you to do so."

"Oh…okay…" Yuuri, feeling nervous. He stepped in and glanced at the women finishing their work.

Murata looked deeply into green eyes one last time and then placed a glowing blue piece of lapis on Wolfram's temple. Immediately, the blond's body collapsed, head falling to the side, and Yuuri, with a horrified expression, came closer.

"Not yet," the sage instructed indifferently.

He took out a second jewel, held it between his palms briefly, and then knelt down with effort. This piece of lapis seemed to be a twin and easily clicked into an open space set on the surface of the altar—making a watery glow dance on the surface and cocoon Wolfram's body with brightening bands of thin, pale green light.

Murata put a hand to his head again. This was so hard and he felt so bad. He forced himself to stand a little straighter and he pushed back emotions that he wished, by the gods, he wasn't feeling.

Carry on. He had to.

Deal with this. Work a miracle. Move on.

No matter how much it wounded him.

The life of a sage was this.

From where she stood, Ulrike recited lines from an ancient text—speaking aloud words that only three people in the room comprehended, the language being long since dead and forgotten. Shinou tilted his head to one side, remembering nostalgically. Murata knew the words, too, but they were grim reminders of what he'd lost.

From within the circle, he turned his back to Yuuri and said, "Take his hand in yours."

"What?" Yuuri visibly blushed and glanced uncomfortably at Wolfram's older brothers.

"You heard me."

"I-I know…but…" the double black stammered. This was not what he'd banked on, obviously. "Was it really okay? It was just so sudden" his expression seemed to say. "Is this something…? I mean… I…?"

"Do it!" Murata barked and everyone in the room blanched.

Yuuri quickly snatched Wolfram's hand as though he were a drowning man and then glanced at Murata to see if that pleased him somehow.

"Thank you," the sage said, uttering the words out of habit—not out of a sense of gratitude straight from his heart.

Yuuri was being infuriating right now. This was serious business. This was not nursery school.

"Ummm… Is this part of the ceremony?" the double black asked hesitantly, trying to keep his friend talking. Yuuri really didn't want Murata mad at him and he knew that he was feeling unwell, too. So, losing his temper was understandable right now.

"No," Murata quipped, "it is called comforting someone who is _dying_…someone we may not be able to save." He ran his fingers through his own dark hair harshly, eyes shut tightly for a moment. "And, if I'm not entirely mistaken, I'll follow him." He shook his head at that and whispered to himself "gladly follow…gladly fade away."

"Pardon?" Yuuri asked, concern evident.

"I said we might fail."

Yes, he was blunt here—very blunt. And Yuuri's face showed it. And, maybe, this was not a kind thing to say in front of Wolfram's brothers and the shrine maidens, but he was having enough of this. And his heart was aching. And some part of himself felt that this was profoundly unfair. What had he done in a previous life to deserve it? He didn't know. And just trying to remember anything made him so tired. A moth-eaten mind.

That was all he had left.

Murata wanted to cry. When had that happened? Tears never solved anything or brought anyone back to you.

Always alone.

Always.

"So sad…" he sighed.

Yuuri's eyes flew open at that. "What? Is he getting worse? And what about you?"

The questions snapped him out of the fuzzy thinking that he'd allowed himself to fall into. Last night, for good reason, he couldn't fall asleep. Everything had to be prepared in exact detail. Now, he was starting to pay the price for all that silent fretting and second guessing. The sage shook his head "Did I just say that out loud?"

"You did," the double black worried.

"Sorry…"

Tiredly, Murata approached the edge of the circle and pulled out a small knife with a curved blade.

"_Murata_," Yuuri breathed, seeing this. His expression said, "No, he couldn't be thinking of…"

The sage whispered some words under his breath, soft like the wind, the tone meeting their ears but nothing more. Nothing else. Then he slit his thumb and forced droplets of red blood to fall.

Red tears.

The second they landed on the circle, the chalk sparked into life like the wick on a stick of dynamite. Waves of light burning. Whirling, sizzling. Then, brilliant bright lights with symbols, long forgotten, appeared on the walls and ceiling. Shining, moving, turning—adjusting with the alignment of the stars. Murata's face was lit with white light and his hair billowed up, irises illuminated with a bright but eerie blue eye shine.

He hoped it would work.

It had to work.

For both their sakes…

A strong bolt of flaring energy struck Murata's core and he could barely withstand it. A gasp and a hand to the aching spot. He struggled to remain on his feet as the wind picked up. Like a prism, his body gave forth light in all directions, it seemed, and pillars of light began to rise all around the circle. The beams quickly faded away and, in place of them, black outlines began to grow and form—some were tall and lean, some were short and squat. A raggedy figure here and a bent figure there.

Color and dimension filled in—much to the amazement of everyone in the room—and there was a disturbed murmuring as the figures moved, shifting from right foot to left foot, stretching, and the odd tuck of the hair back to straighten things.

People. These were people.

"Is this all I have left?" Murata muttered to himself. His voice was weak. He thought he sounded so pathetic.

The double black king's eyes widened when he recognized the person standing closest to him. He'd seen his face a thousand times within the castle—both in paintings and in books. The man's eyes were dark and his hair fell back like a thick, black curtain. He was tall, like Conrad, but with a different demeanor—calmer, wiser, and yet pensive.

Cold.

"The Original Sage," Yuuri breathed and immediately caught the tall man's attention—studying him momentarily with a slight raise of an eyebrow. Then, slowly, well aware that he was there, the sage's eyes turned and met Shinou's. The Original King was still standing in the corner but his face had grown serious. There was still something there, something deep, between the two of them and it was unmistakable, intimate. A noble nod out of respect and the Original Sage returned his attention back to Yuuri holding Wolfram's hand. Yes, holding hands. That seemed to amuse him slightly—for good or ill, it was impossible to say.

He swallowed hard and began, "I…apologize for this….for calling you…" Murata spoke the words wearily and pushed his glasses up on his nose a little with a shaky finger.

"Oh, not to worry…not to worry," a motherly, apple-shaped woman interrupted, wiping her pudgy hands on her lace-edged cotton apron. "We already know why we're here. You don't need to go into any details, love. We are _you_ after all."

An impatient sigh. "Oh, let the boy-sage speak, Sassy. You were always such a talker," complained a sallow, lean librarian type with a tight, brunette bun on top of her head. "If you keep going on like this, we'll run out of time and we won't be able to be of any use." She cut her eyes to the side. "Blondie over there will die," she thumbed at Wolfram, "and so will our present incarnation." She smoothed out her own sweater for emphasis, letting them know she was finished with her speech while ignoring Murata's murmuring of "I'm not a boy. I'm of age."

That got a prune-like frown from Sassy and hands firmly resting on ample hips. "And just, pray tell, who is standing on the circle right now…prattling on…acting like a know-it-all? Hmmm, Danielle?"

"Well, I should have every right." The stern woman folded her arms against her chest.

"But it's not the right thing to say in front of family and friends. You were always so cold-hearted when it came to death," a slender, middle school aged boy jumped in. He made a slight gesture to those waiting in the back of the room.

"Child, you don't know anything!" She spoke like a teacher dealing with an incredibly stupid pupil who never studied.

A booted foot stomped in response, sending up a cloud of chalk and an electric charge. "Yes, I do! I was born with your memories," he complained, starting to lose his temper, "unlike the rest of us who got them when they grew up!"

"Then, you should stop being a brat."

He stuck out his tongue and followed it with "Bun-head!"

Danielle narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, see how open minded you are about death when your village is invaded, a hulking man breaks through your door, places a knife against your throat…and you scream over and over for Shinou to save you." She tightened her fists as though ready to strangle someone and gritted out the words "He never came."

"I'm bored with this conversation, mates," a pirate drawled, playing with the gold hoop in his left ear. It was a habit he'd developed and Murata realized just how much he'd forgotten—how much he'd lost—about that time in his life.

"Back to business," a slinky sexpot purred—her frayed blue jean short shorts riding up her heart-shaped derriere with every _not so subtle_ swivel of the hips. Yuuri started to sweat at that.

"I agree," The Original Sage said which got murmurs of approval from everyone else standing on the circle.

Murata nodded shakily. "The…uh…story so far…"

"As I said before," Sassy told him. "We know, Dear. So, ask us what you want of us…"

He put a hand to his head, knowing she was right and he tried to pull his thoughts together again. "Right… Those of you with medical training, please stay behind. I need to talk to you about healing…Wol-…I mean…Lord von Bielefeld…and, possibly, myself…" If that wasn't simple enough, Murata wasn't sure whether or not he could phrase it more clearly.

Small pops of light went around the circle as individuals left—including an elderly farmer in overalls, a baker covered in flour, the middle school boy, and the slinky sex pot. Though, she did blow Wolfram a kiss before disappearing. Yuuri didn't like that one at all and, without thinking, held Wolfram's hand a little tighter.

Murata noticed and turned on his heel—forcing himself, now, to deal with those who were left.

With some astonishment, he met the gaze of a haggard, hooded figure who, with an unsympathetic expression, melted away. "Oh, yes… I forgot about Janus standing over there," Danielle could be heard whispering. "Well, I didn't expect him to come…knowing what he's like and all." She gave a slightly annoyed "humph." "Never liked him anyway."

Now, there were ten figures left including: a middle aged balding man with a doctor's bag, Sassy, Danielle, The Original Sage, and, oddly, the pirate.

"You….?" Yuuri blurted out before he could stop himself. He just couldn't believe it.

A tug of the earring and a naughty smile with slightly crooked, yellowing teeth. "Since comin' of age, I've been a ship's surgeon…operatin' in a small space below the gun deck. I do everything from cuttin' hair ta cuttin' off limbs…ta buyin' medicine."

"You mean booze," Murata said curtly.

A slight shrug of the shoulders. "For medicinal purposes, ya understand…"

"We understand," Sassy observed sourly and then noted that a starry-eyed shrine maiden was standing not far from where she was. "So, young one, why not get a piece of parchment and something to write with. I'm an herbalist as well as an alchemist in my village and the sages around me can vouch for my suggestions in terms of a remedy for this situation that Lord von Bielefeld and our present 'self' have found themselves in."

"Taking over as usual," Danielle pouted.

"Not again," Murata groaned, putting the heel of a hand to his head. This bickering was really getting to him.

Sassy looked from Danielle to Murata—taking pity on him more than anything. Apparently, someone had to steer the conversation in a more fruitful direction. She could do that. "Well, how about this…? I'll start with my list of ingredients, like I said before, and the good healers on the circle will back me up and you can 'check my work,' Danielle, to make sure that I didn't forget a single thing." She used the motherly voice, this time, that usually worked with her obstinate, youngest son.

Danielle gave a slight frown but it was clear that she approved of the plan. "Well, fine. Begin there. But I'm not sure how fast that silly girl can write."

"She's not silly," Murata defended, knowing all too well that such a description would hurt the girl's feelings deeply and word would spread that a part of the Great Sage didn't approve of her.

"Of course, she is," Danielle shot back. "Had she been totally prepared, we would not have needed to ask her to get parchment to write upon and…she would have worn much warmer, and shall I say…'more appropriate clothes,' in this room." Danielle looked away, narrowing her eyes with disapproval while doing so. "It's cold in here and I can see her nipples."

At that point, the shrine maiden's sister took over and the younger one skipped out of the room with her arms covering her chest. Her face was blushing bright pink. Ulrike reddened, too.

"You know, I'm going to have to apologize to her later," Murata sighed, trying not to sound as put out as he really was. This was like dealing with Shinou in one of his rare, as of late, mischievous moods.

"Well, it wasn't like I didn't notice," Sassy chimed in, "but I was too much of a lady to make a comment." She straightened her shoulders, ready to switch topics, and said to the brunette shrine maiden, "So, this is what you'll need followed by ways to prepare the herbs. I would say that the prep time, should you have all of the herbs ready, should be quick as a wink. The trick, of course, is actually having everything you need…including a liquid made from the distillation of potatoes or corn."

"What?" Yuuri scratched his head.

"It's clear, has a potent smell, and quite intoxicating," she added, "but you'll need it. There's no substitution."

"Vodka," Murata chuckled under his breath. "She means vodka…" He gave his first true smile of the day. "I have a small bottle…tucked away…for 'medicinal purposes.' So, I think we can really do this." He chuckled to himself a bit louder. "It is…possible…after all."

But they would have to start now and do everything right the first time.

Now.

Begin.

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A sweet voice recited: "The Great Sage of Shin Makoku had once written: 'And, as with all 'beginnings,' they start with so much 'ordinary,' so much 'nothing' that they go largely unnoticed….except by the poets and dreamers in this world."

Hands clapped.

"Such wonderful memorization."

A prideful voice. "Of course, she is, after all, _my daughter_."

She tapped a few steps and skipped as she walked. "Oh, I loved that story so much!" Greta told them, holding the red, leather bound book against her for a big hug. "It was just so amazing." She turned to Murata who was walking on her left side and asked, "So, did you really go on this adventure?"

An amused glance in her direction. "I'm sorry to say that it is a work of fiction written eight hundred years ago," Murata returned with a grin. "If I had gone on such a superb journey, I would have remembered it."

"But it is so famous! Gunther calls it a 'classic' and everything." There was a small, girlish pout there.

On her other side, Wolfram smirked at that. "He calls everything a classic."

"But, it is worth reading!" Greta countered cutely, probably a direct quote from Gunther, too, and Wolfram couldn't refuse that charm. He rubbed her curls with a fatherly air about him.

"And, then, there's the wedding at the end of the story!" Oh, yes. The little princess did love a good wedding and that made Murata's thin grin even wider. He'd had more than his share of weddings, but, he also understood why they were enjoyed. He, too, appreciated a good party from time to time with a delightful nuptial bed romp afterwards.

"Yes, it does end with a wedding, doesn't it?" Murata teased. "I wonder who I will marry this time around?"

"Maybe…me?" Greta said, looking excited at the prospect.

"Not on your life," Wolfram grumped, throwing the sage a dangerous glare. "But, when the time comes, years and years from now," he tugged at his constricting collar at the thought of giving his little princess away, "we will see to it that you have an extraordinary wedding, beautiful flowers, and a dress with a royal length train."

"And that special lace that I love?" Greta added hopefully. It was so expensive.

"That and more," Wolfram promised as any proud papa would. "Pearls, probably."

Murata clasped his hands together and rubbed them, "I can't wait."

"Well, I sure can," Wolfram said under his breath and opened the door for the three of them to enter the Royal Throne Room. Inside, Gunther, Conrad, Yozak, and Gwendal stood waiting patiently. There were two uniformed castle guards by the door, looking dull as usual, but they brightened upon seeing Greta and her infectious smile.

Greta went up the red carpeted stairs first, followed by Wolfram and Murata. The little princess, in her flower print dress from Earth, stood to the side and allowed her father to be at Yuuri's right. That was his appropriate place—as Yuuri's "right hand" and, from his expression alone, it was clear that he expected everyone to respect that fine position. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword casually. On the left, Murata stood and waited with Greta next to him. The child was still hugging her precious book.

Exactly where people stood made no difference to a certain double black. It was all the same to him anyway. Yuuri pushed his weighty crown away from his face and leaned forward with a pleasant but curious smile. "Why are we doing this again?" he called down to Gunther. He'd been told earlier, but that was before breakfast and he'd had a lot on his mind. After all, today was "strawberry jam day" and Greta always celebrated that with a happy dance. It was fun to watch.

The white caped adviser coughed proudly into his fist, ready to be of help to his favorite monarch. "We have a representative from the human country of Zhahel today, Yuuri Heika. Their wealth comes from: producing grains, money lending, and, interestingly enough, controlling the trade routes running throughout their central desert region."

The double black scratched his head at that. "Controlling….the what?"

"He means that they strong-arm anyone going through their very dry desert into paying huge fees to get from 'point A' to 'point B' where there's water available," Murata translated lowly. "And I wouldn't be surprised if their king sells a 'little information' along with those tasty grains they are so famous for."

The sage's sarcasm was evident and Yuuri's mouth made an "o" as he caught on.

Wolfram sighed, "Here we go again." They'd been over this, but Yuuri, evidently, had been daydreaming of something. Considering the time of day, it was probably his empty stomach or something else of minor importance. The blond looked around him and a frown slowly came to his lips. It was bad form to be giving all of this information now, just as their visitor was about to appear. The possibility of being overheard was high and so was the consequence of offence to someone who had, most likely, traveled for days and days just to get here.

Disapproving green eyes met black. They'd talk later; Yuuri wasn't going to slip out of this one so easily. It was so amateurish for The Demon King of Shin Makoku to be this way.

"R-Right…" Yuuri laughed uncomfortably and turned away, trying to sit up a little higher on the throne and not being able to because he had parked his rump smartly on his red cape. The material was pressing his shoulders down.

This was going to be one of those days.

A soft knock at the door and the guard on the right opened it. He peeked into the hallway. Based on his profile, he seemed to be pleasantly surprised and then gave his king an amused look.

Wolfram's face grew stony to that. There was something going on and he wasn't going to like it. That was for certain. His gut told him that much.

As the door was opened fully, a soft swishing of silky material could be heard. A lone visitor entered the room with what seemed to Murata to be a small, wooden treasure chest made of rich, dark cherry wood clasped in her hands. She was dressed in beautiful, deep scarlet silks which highlighted her piercing eyes, making them stand out like jewels. She approached the carpet, striding forward as though a creature in a dream, her creamy arms and long legs flashing when the dress' material moved just the right way.

"Majesty." Her smile was perfect. She had rows of fine-looking, pearl-white teeth.

Wrapped in the thin material, her breasts swayed in gentle motions and her auburn hair flowed.

Yuuri was spellbound.

Wolfram was furious.

"I have something for you," she purred with an accent foreign and eyes promising a world of carnal pleasures if he'd only allow it. She raised her arms, presenting the offering.

She passed the little group still standing to the right side. Murata noticed from where he stood that Gwendal seemed to want to face-palm himself. The Commander of the Mazoku Army could see disaster on the horizon, but he couldn't stop it without creating an awkward scene at best and offense at worst. Gunther, too, didn't seem pleased but for a different reason. That overly familiar language the woman was using was getting on his last nerve fairly quickly. In fact, anyone who tried to corrupt his flawless, innocent maou would become an enemy in his book fairly quickly (if not permanently). From his perch on high, Murata could read Yozak's lips. He asked Conrad, "Should we stop her and…?" Then, the spy turned his body more towards the side, making the rest impossible to follow.

There was a low, deep-toned growl and the distinct, unpleasant scent of something burning. Murata's eyes cut to the side. _Oh, it just got better._ Instinctually, Yuuri gripped the arms of the throne. He wasn't brave enough to look. Then again, he didn't have to.

He knew.

Everyone knew.

"Majesty," the woman said, her tone positively come-hither. "…a gift from my country…my king…"

But it wasn't entirely clear to Murata whether or not it was just the box or that plus the young woman that was the intended "gift." He smirked at the possibilities.

She was stunning and she would take full advantage of it, apparently. Her teasing eyes swept the room—seeing who else was interested and, all the while, enjoying a certain blond who was boiling over with jealousy. Then, her head turned back to the young, blushing double black monarch. "Mine" her walk said, and, without another word, without permission, she took the stairs up.

"Enough!" Wolfram fumed and violently stomped out the small fire he'd created on the carpet in front of him.

"N-Now, Wolf," Yuuri tried to soothe with a pacifying gesture, palms up. But it didn't go well. The blond just ignored him and took the carpeted stairs down two at a time, determined to confront the voluptuous threat right before him. He could handle her. He'd dealt with this kind of thing before because Yuuri was such a total wimp and someone had to be the one with a backbone. Someone had to set the standard. Someone had to draw a line in the sand.

And if Yuuri wasn't going to be captain of his ship, Wolfram, then, chose himself. They were engaged, after all, and everyone—everyone—was going to respect that.

"Give it to me," the blond demanded, his hand out now.

"_Wolfram_." Gwendal's tone had a slight and not-so-hidden thread of danger to it. Murata could practically read his mind: This was no time to go into a petty, envious rant over something so minor. This situation called for diplomacy and decorum—maturity, in other words. Getting along with these people could benefit both countries even if the Zhahel "representative" was somewhat…morally flexible.

Murata could read Conrad's face, too. There was no disguising it. Embarrassment was there. Wolfram should have known better. He'd been raised to deal with the trials of courtly life. He knew. So, there were no excuses.

"_W-o-l-f-r-a-m_," Gwendal repeated the name once more, another wrinkle appearing on his forehead.

Murata's attention ping-ponged between the two brothers. This was fun. He never got this kind of entertainment while staying in the temple. Sometimes, real life was far better than TV or even books.

The young woman shook her head "no" playfully, never losing that soft smile at the blond ex-prince. She swayed her shoulders, making her breasts move enticingly. "Only for the king…king only… He is the one, I'm told."

Green eyes hardened immediately. "Don't tell me 'no'! And don't tell me what to do!" he shouted and, immediately, Murata enjoyed the distinct sound of Gunther attempting to hold back a little gasp.

Indeed, this was not, at all, going well. Murata stood a little taller and rocked happily on his heels. This was absolute fun—a verbal and emotional tug-of-war on the stairs. Behind his glasses, his eyes danced.

The outstretched hand shook with fury and Wolfram began to physically smoke, heat and little tendrils of curling grey rising up all around him. "I ordered you to hand it over," the blond gritted out between clinched teeth. "An order…not a request!"

Gwendal, this time, barked a furious reprimand as Wolfram made a snatching motion for the small treasure chest. A brief struggle and he'd gotten his fingers around the domed wooden object and forced back the lid with his thumb when Murata's world spiraled into a hellish sensation of piercing, scorching misery—as though suddenly burned from within with hot steam. A deadly aura winked, then flared. His eyes flew to the box Wolfram was now holding and he stood in shock and dismay as a thick, black squid-ink substance shot out of the box and onto Wolfram's lower cheek and jaw followed by a long, glowing yellow crystal—flying out along the same course.

Time slowed.

He could hear his heartbeat.

Nothing more.

Murata saw Wolfram turn the rest of the way—his face twisted in anguish as he looked up, seemingly imploring him. Wolfram, his neck, shoulder, and right arm stained black. Shinou's arm was stained when he was nearing the end and the darkness was eating him alive.

Wolfram was burning. Alive.

The same face. The same expression. Agony.

The two, one.

Pain. Pain was the same for them both.

It couldn't be changed. It couldn't be helped.

_Yes, it could!_

"Arrest her!" Murata ordered as he ran down the stairs, thumping his feet hard as he did so. The woman, while fleeing, reached into her robes and pulled out what looked like an ice pick with a bulbous, wooden handle—whether to defend herself or to commit suicide, it wasn't clear. Gwendal wrestled the weapon away while Conrad stood behind her to block any plan of escape.

Wolfram had dropped the box and fallen awkwardly into a sitting position on the stairs, trembling. On instinct, he raked his fingers across his burning face, fingers slipping against bubbling black goo, trying to do away with the crystal—to brush it off, pull it off—anything, when Murata restrained his hand with a firm grip. "Don't," the sage commanded with traces of the black stuff splotching onto his skin as well and then, awkwardly, he rammed in his hand and removed a folded handkerchief from his pocket.

"Listen to me! Listen!" he demanded of green eyes. "You will have to endure everything until I tell you differently." The sage leaned in meaningfully. "Do you understand?!"

Wolfram, his eyes shining in pain, gave a begrudging, almost submissive, shaking "yes" but could say nothing more than that. Even though it was excruciating, he would do whatever The Great Sage told him to do. Trust was there. It surprised the sage just how much considering the short history the two of them shared and the intensely jealous nature that belonged to Wolfram von Bielefeld.

Murata dabbed at the substance, trying to get the crystal clean enough to grip with the handkerchief, and then announced, "A poison-filled 'trick box'…that's what that was…" He made a quick nod to the splintered pieces of wood on the floor. "Not a very ingenious weapon but still fairly effective," he had to admit. There had to have been spells cast on the box for it to get this far without him detecting it. He kicked himself for this oversight, for letting himself get distracted by a pretty face and a fun atmosphere. "Get everyone who has even a drop of human blood in them out of the room. That black poison has been brewed up by an expert herbalist to kill humans and half-humans."

Yuuri was standing three steps behind Murata, leaning forward slightly with deep worry in his eyes. "But…what about you, Murata? I mean, Wolf will be okay, right? But you…?"

Murata ignored the concern. He had to focus. This wasn't over. Not by a longshot.

"Have someone call Gissela because this is not good," Murata told him matter-of-factly, still studying the blond. The sage's mind was racing.

Without warning, Murata made an attempt to get the crystal and created what felt like a huge static shock between them. There was a "pop" and the sage's whole body tingled sickeningly. Wolfram cried out in pain, long and anguished—his voice echoing hideously in the room.

"S-Sorry," Murata whispered harshly, rubbing his hands together to get feeling back.

The sage backed off, letting him take deep, shaking breaths before trying once more. But it seemed as though he was on the verge of hyperventilating. The blond arched his back suddenly. Wolfram's fingers were digging into his black jacket, knuckles white.

Tears. Green eyes had tears in them. Shinou never cried. But he should have, just once at least, for someone who was worth it.

Black poison from Wolfram's right hand was soaking through Murata's jacket—black on black.

"We have no choice. We have to try again, von Bielefeld. I'm sorry, about…"

"I…" The blond's breathing suddenly hitched and Murata barely caught him, softly resting Wolfram's head on one step. Cursing to himself in Japanese, the sage leaned forward and gripped the crystal still burning into Wolfram's jaw. "I need to remove this while there's still time. These things are deadly to Mazoku," he told himself aloud, totally blocking out anything else said in the room.

He pulled with all his might.

Wild, green eyes opened as Wolfram cried out with a broken voice, the crystal finally torn from his pale skin. It left him wan and raw—bleeding heavily from a meaty hole of ripped-open skin. Murata looked upon what he was forced to do while Yuuri held Greta to his chest, making her turn away.

"I said 'go'…unless you're a full-blooded Mazoku," Murata ordered and Yozak and the guards cleared out this time on his order.

"But Murata…" Yuuri implored and the sage shook his head, waiting for him and the little princess to take a narrow, hidden door behind the throne out of the room.

"Take the escape route. Don't pass us on the stairs. And make sure that Greta touches nothing in this room."

"But…But…"

"Debating this is pointless." His tone was cold now.

"O-Okay… But, we'll be waiting for you...you both."

Then, he heard two sets of feet make their way for the hidden door and Murata found himself able to breathe a little easier.

But just a little.

From the door, Conrad called out to Murata, "Shouldn't you be leaving, too? Gissela's on her way now. She's coming as fast as she can." The concern was there, evident. And his brown eyes had questions.

Murata wrapped the wet, muck-covered handkerchief around the glowing crystal and knotted it tightly. Then, he dropped it down to the foot of the stairs, hoping that would give some distance between it and Wolfram. Murata then showed his black-splotched hands, "Sorry… It's too late for me."

From within, he laughed at the irony, somehow bitterly pleased with it.

It was not his purpose to safeguard the fiancé of the king. The Great Sage of Shin Makoku belonged to the reigning king and the country. It was a destiny and a design—a position of greatness. But, at times, it felt as though he was simply part of the furniture. And an outdated piece at that.

But he knew why he did this and he knew why it was a calling—an illogical, compelling one.

_To atone…and something more…_

The Original Sage's feelings, despite the façade, ran strong and deep. This made an innate reaction from inheriting his memories, once Murata really thought about it. And those feelings were not his. But they _were_ his. And Wolfram was not Shinou, but he had Shinou's youthful face and blood running through his veins.

"_Nothing good will come from associating with me."_

Ancient words, an ancient prediction.

A promise.

How badly it worked out for them. And, yet, there was a chance to make it all better—because Murata had seen small changes and knew that, very soon, the bratty prince was going to be the key to a certain someone's happiness. And, in return for his patience and sufferings, the fire wielder would get the one thing money couldn't buy—a family. A place to belong. Love.

But only if he didn't die.

"It will be fine," Conrad called from the doorway but with no confidence behind it. "You must…"

"I do need something…if I could have your help," Murata said, forcing a thin smile on his face that he really didn't feel. "I need another wooden box…preferably cherry wood with leather handles…and a flask of holy water. No Mazoku can touch that rare, glowing aragonite crystal," he pointed to it at the foot of the stairs, "without having their element rapidly drained from them or even eclipsed." He studied Wolfram's face while continuing with, "So, just leave the items at the door and I'll handle the rest."

Conrad forced a nod, showing he understood.

"Good," the sage sighed heavily, resting his forearms on his thighs and leaning over. He was starting to get light-headed and sick to his stomach. "And, please, forgive me for asking you to make it quick. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to walk out of here on my own."

.

* * *

.

In the infirmary, Gissela and three healers were busy tending to their special patients. While the poison was being cleared away properly, thanks to an old invention of Anissina's that was just sitting in a corner doing nothing, it was a matter of pouring healing energy into Wolfram and Murata while Conrad, Gwendal, Greta, and Yuuri observed from a respectable distance, trying not to get in the way.

"I'm not sure that our rather 'willful' patient here is quite ready for visitors just yet," Gissela stated in an even tone, hoping that Yuuri would get the hint and take his child out of the room.

"No, I have to see that Wolfram is okay, Yuuri!" Greta worried aloud. "Look at him!"

"Uh…well…" Yuuri was doing his best not to fret openly. So, he did what he usually did—tried to hide his feelings with an uncertain smile. "Wolf's getting a bandage on his face right now. See? And that poison burn on his neck was so small that she could heal it practically at once. Gissela's doing a great job. Oh…and look over here. His hand is bandaged nicely," the double black soothed in fatherly fashion as he hugged her to his side. "So, things are looking up. Really. You still have both of your fathers by your side."

She leaned into Yuuri as he rubbed her curly head. Greta sometimes needed that assurance, demonstrating to Yuuri that while she came across as more mature than others her age, she still was a little girl and needed love and support when times were toughest for her.

Being alone was one of her greatest fears. Even Wolfram knew that.

"He will be fine," Conrad confirmed, trying to smile, too. But the second son noted that Gissela didn't join in the conversation as usual. She was still taking copious notes on her clipboard and her critical eye made him troubled. Conrad looked over to Gwendal briefly. He'd noticed it, too, evidently.

"H-e-a-d-a-c-h-e," Murata complained as he opened his eyes. He'd actually been listening in on the conversation in the room, but had gotten bored of it and wanted an aspirin instead. "Pounding won't stop…"

Yuuri walked over to his best friend's bed, the two lower level healers making way for him. "What a relief!" Yuuri's black eyes almost danced, this new relief brightening them. "I can't thank you enough for what you've done."

Murata murmured "glasses" and Greta handed them over from the small side table that separated his bed from Wolfram's.

He focused on the face hovering over him. "There's no need to thank me, Shibuya. I really didn't do anything," Murata returned, sitting up achingly in the bed and allowing Yuuri to tuck a fluffy pillow behind his back. "The one who truly saved your life was von Bielefeld." He groaned and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. Maybe, that would stop the throbbing briefly. Gissela handed him a cup of strong-smelling herb tea. "Thanks," he said to her and continued, "Who knew that his jealousy could actually come in handy?" He gave a wry smile to his own joke before taking a sip of tea and pruning his lips at the bitter taste. "The one who made that box probably knew that you are half Mazoku but you have the ability, unlike most, to wield an element. So, it would be logical to make a weapon that was light, easy to carry, and would kill a human as well as a Mazoku. All bases were covered with such a simple thing."

Yuuri turned his eyes to Wolfram. "I owe him a lot."

Slowly, Murata shook his head. "I don't think he did what he did because he wanted you to 'owe him'." The sage hesitantly took another sip of the steaming drink. It was cooling off but it was just as vile. "His heart was in the right place…sort of…"

"You mean he was jealous," Yuuri said with a little guilt.

"A jealous heart?" Greta asked innocently, making both Gwendal and Conrad slightly amused with her.

Murata studied the sleeping blond bishonen next to him but continued to speak to Greta. "Someday, you'll understand what he was feeling and you'll say to yourself, 'Oh, so that's what that was' and everything will all make sense." He knew that people had a habit of understanding things when the time was right and not before.

"And then the wedding comes and you ride off together into the sunset?" the child asked hopefully. She still had the red leather book with her.

_Or, maybe not…_ he thought glumly.

Murata didn't want to lie, but he couldn't ignore any possibilities, either. "Maybe…perhaps…" But his tone spoke of disbelief.

_Happily ever after doesn't exist. Or, maybe…for me, it is not supposed to._

The sage looked around the room and noticed the strange looks he was getting. He didn't want to wade into the topic too deeply. He didn't feel well enough to do so and he hoped that Yuuri wouldn't ask any questions, either—not in front of Greta, at least. Let the child keep her romantic fantasies and dreams of that special someone caring for her. Murata did note that the double black had turned away from him when he said "maybe." But, at the moment, he didn't want to play the role of king's adviser, either. Just like the blond next to him, he just wanted to sleep and let go of the day.

"So tired," came a voice and Greta immediately said, "Wolfram!"

Wolfram's eyes half-mooned. Thin slivers of emerald peeked out. Then, when he saw Greta's delighted face, he forced himself awake and took in her smile. "Hello…" he said faintly, then turned his head and scanned the room with his eyes. "How did I…get here?" The blond put his injured hand to his cheek and noticed, immediately, the bandage stretching from cheek to lower jaw. Gingerly, he patted his face and could feel that bulkiness as well. "Something happened, didn't it?" he asked feebly.

"We're proud of you, Wolfram," Gwendal praised in a gruff voice, sticking out his chest. "You stopped an assassination attempt on Yuuri Heika…even if it didn't appear to be one at the time." Yes, he'd add that little bit to remind his baby brother to not get into the habit of behaving badly. "The black poison, combined with exposure to the glowing crystal, burned your skin…making it difficult to heal."

"Yes, you took the brunt of it," Conrad joined in, "and, in turn, Geika saved you."

Murata noticed green eyes turning to him and then up as Yuuri approached the bed. The young king sat on the edge of the bed by Wolfram's side and took his uninjured hand, holding it warmly. "Thank you, Wolf… You saved me."

Wolfram gave a confused look.

Yuuri blushed slightly and went on with, "I know that girl was really, really pretty and all…and that you felt…umm…_unhappy_…about the way she was behaving around me and everything… I wasn't encouraging her to do anything in front of you, I mean…and…"

Wolfram turned his head slightly away and blushed harder than Yuuri, Murata noticed, and the blond bishonen couldn't meet eyes with anyone. "I must whole-heartedly apologize, but I simply do not recall this…incident," he said using the formal Mazoku tongue. "If I have created offense…?" He let the question hang in the air.

"You can stop talking like that," Gwendal huffed, irritated now. "Drop the pettiness toward Yuuri Heika. He has apologized enough."

Another confused look. This time, one aimed at his brother, followed by a soft "Wha-?"

Gissela's attention zeroed in on Wolfram and then she checked the clipboard. "I have some questions for you, then." She made her tone pleasant enough. "Just the usual."

Wolfram gave a slightly suspicious nod.

"Who is he?" and she pointed.

Wolfram gave a slight smirk. "You've got to be kidding, right?"

"Just answer the question." Her tone was polite, but determined.

The blond sighed but decided to play along, Murata noticed. It would probably be much faster that way if he did. Then, they would all leave. Wolfram turned his eyes to the tall man in the high collared green uniform. "That is My Lord Brother, Gwendal. Hopefully, he will have me released soon." His facial expression and a blond eyebrow were raised to that as if to say, "Please?"

Gwendal quirked a thin grin. He couldn't help himself no matter how peeved he was at his baby brother.

Gissela smiled at her clipboard. "Good. Now, who is he?"

Wolfram pruned his lips and glanced away. "Seriously?" he deadpanned.

"Seriously."

Wolfram's expression held a shadow of his bratty self when displeased. "If I must… This is my other brother, Conrad."

To that, Murata observed Yuuri smiling as broadly as Conrad was. It felt good to the two of them to have Wolfram acknowledge to the entire room their kinship—that blood bond. The blond had come a long way since the day they'd first met.

"I am…?" Gissela asked, pointing to herself.

"Gissela, my torturer," the blond complained, "…especially if you think you're getting any of that bitter tea in me. I can smell it from here. It reeks."

At that, the sage gave his drink a good whiff and found himself agreeing. It ranked up there with horse urine.

"I see…" Gissela made a notation on her clipboard. "So, who is he?" The green haired woman pointed to Yuuri and Wolfram followed the motion with his eyes. There was an uncomfortable silence in the room emanating from the blond fire wielder. "Come on, Wolfram," she sing-songed, "He's the one still holding your hand." Her motive was clear to the sage. She thought she'd tease Wolfram a little as payback for that obnoxious, previous comment. Predictably, Yuuri would blush even darker and it would be great fun to see them react. The word "fiancé" and, maybe, "We are going to be married," would be amusing to hear while Yuuri fled from the room.

"This is…" Wolfram turned his head away and met eyes with Murata briefly. The look was unmistakable. It said, "What, the hell, is going on? Do something!"

"Well?" Gissela prodded in a cheeky manner.

"Go on," Murata encouraged slowly, his eyes narrowing as he concentrated.

A slight shrug in the bed, but that uncomfortable expression still remained. "Umm… You see before you…Yuuri Heika, our esteemed twenty-seventh Maou of Shin Makoku." He took his hand back with respect and rested both palms on his own chest. "And standing over there is his daughter, Princess Greta."

The child's face fell.

"And I am…?" Murata asked hesitantly, not understanding this in the slightest.

The blond slowly broke into a winning smile, pained from all he'd been through but astonishingly beautiful nonetheless. "And you are Murata Ken, The Great Sage of Shin Makoku…and my husband."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

.

.

"Is this some kind of joke? What are you thinking?!" Gwendal demanded, looming closer to the infirmary bed. An intimidating shadow fell over the blond. This was all nonsense to him.

Murata noticed storm clouds gathering. It was amazing how quickly Wolfram's temper could turn.

"Excuse me?" Wolfram growled back with a mixture of astonishment and hurt. "Since when have you disapproved of the one I am _happily_ married to?" Refusing help from Conrad, the youngest brother forced himself up clumsily into a sitting position in the bed. The white blankets pooled into his lap. "If you had opposition, Gwendal, you should have voiced it long before now. Long before the wedding! But what did you do? Hmm? You decided to do it today…with _an audience_!" Livid, angry emeralds shined with an edge to them. "This is an insult!"

"Wolfram!" Gwendal barked.

"Yes, I am 'Wolfram.' And, if you need a reminder, I am 'Wolfram Altair von Bielefeld _Murata_! I am husband to The Great Sage and no other!" He leaned forward in the eldest brother's direction, ready to defend his position. This was who he was. It would be respected. He would not yield.

"Altair? Murata?" Conrad shook his head impossibly at that. "Please, Wolfram…be reasonable…"

The furious blond clinched his hands, wincing slightly with the bandaged one. "Not you, too!"

"Now, now!" Gissela stepped in, doing her best to calm things down and restore order before fire became involved.

Yuuri cringed slightly and then looked to Greta. "I think we need to have you spend some time with Doria in the kitchen for a cookie break." He opened the door and politely steered the child out by gently placing a hand on her small right shoulder. "We'll sort this out. We'll fix it."

"But, Yuuri!" she worried openly, watching Wolfram's angry stare-down between himself and Gwendal before finding herself in the hallway with the door closed. She could still make out the voices coming through the door, though. Wolfram was confused and furious while Gwendal was certain that he was faking it.

"What do mean 'Get over it'?" the bishonen's muffled voice seeped through the door. "It'd better not mean what I _think_ it means!"

"Toilet!" Murata's somewhat loud, immediate request seemed to silence the room. "Ummm…Lord Weller, would you be so kind as to help me to the privy in the hallway? I'd prefer that one, if you don't mind."

"But…there's…" Gissela jumped in.

"I'll take you," Wolfram offered, his temper simmering down somewhat.

"Please, Lord Weller."

And Greta made a quick run for the nearest cleaning closet to hide. The maids had taught her a thing or two about listening in and she was going to get a few answers "now" rather than later.

The door to the infirmary opened and, for a brief second, the little girl thought the sage had seen her hiding. Then, they continued on. Murata was escorted by Gwendal, Conrad, and, oddly, Yuuri. An entourage to the bathroom seemed strange to Greta and she was about to leave her hiding place when Gissela left, too, with a strained look on her face. Murata pointed to the healer's office with "Let's talk in here" and the little group went in, firmly closing the door behind them.

The little girl tiptoed closer and placed her ear on the neatly painted white door. But, sadly, this was of no use. Much to Greta's disappointment, Gissela had, long ago, made her office soundproof for just this very reason.

.

* * *

.

"What is going on?" Gwendal wanted to know, looking at the group assembled around a plain oak table that the green-haired woman kept for conferences with her medical staff.

"I don't know," Murata said, "but I believe that he thinks, without a shadow of a doubt, that he's telling the truth." The dark haired sage laced his fingers together and rested his hands in his lap. Things had gotten complicated fairly quickly. The blond ex-prince's volatile emotions were typical of a fire wielder—sensual, bold, and tenacious. To say that their kind did not give up easily was an understatement. But there was something frail about them and for Wolfram, someone who had always wanted approval in some way—whether it be earned or given—his struggles followed him even though he chose not to recognize them.

Even Murata knew that much.

The double black looked at his closest friend. "I have to agree. Wolf, somehow, thinks that the two of you are…married."

Murata studied Yuuri's face without appearing to. He seemed lost and lonely already—a stark contrast to the "full of life" or "genki," as the Japanese would say, king who claimed openly things like: "But I like girls…" and "We are not getting married this year or any other!" while running down the hall with the angry blond hot on his heels.

_Running like children. Running away from fate and feelings. _Still, was it his place as "sage" to reveal that? Would it be the kind of meddling that Shinou was always famous for? The thoughts, alone, wore him thin. _I don't feel like dealing with this._

"But… Altair? Where did he get that from?" Conrad wondered aloud, breaking into his thoughts.

Gwendal folded his beefy arms defensively against his chest. "Beats me."

Murata scratched his chin in thought. Something was nagging at him, tugging at the back of his mind. Why was it so hard to think? To remember? His mind searched until he got a flash of memory—a vivid one. They were walking down the hall, chatting and laughing. Murata groaned "no" and let his head fall back heavily on his shoulders. For certain, he _really_ didn't feel like dealing with this.

"Murata?" the double black worried, leaning closer.

"I think…I think I get it now," Murata admitted slowly.

"Then, what is it?" Gissela asked, curious.

Murata glanced wearily around the table. "Altair is a character from a book. It's called _The Chronicles of the Great Sage in Bygone Days _…a 'classic' or so I'm told." He added that last part with an almost acidic taste in his mouth. "It's entirely possible that von Bielefeld has cast himself in the role of 'Altair'…the handsome knight on a white horse who meets up with Shin Makoku's sage, follows him endlessly…no matter how many times he's told to 'go home'…and swears a holy oath to Shinou on bended knee that his commitment will last forever."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Yuuri said hopefully.

Murata gave a level stare. "At the end of the book, Altair finally gets the sage to accept his feelings for him and they have a rose garden wedding next to a tall castle."

"Oh, that's right!" Conrad said, snapping his fingers as he recalled it. "I remember reading that book long ago."

Gwendal shook his head at that. "I told my tutors I'd be better off reading war diaries and books on battle strategies than some ridiculous romance. Luckily for me, they agreed."

"Greta had just finished reading _Chronicles _and was quoting from the book right before we met all of you in the Royal Throne Room," Murata informed them. "So, logically, it would still be on his mind." Murata pushed his dark hair out of his face. "Or, it could also be the poison's effect…making him confused…or, possibly, the crystal… if a powerful shamanistic spell had been placed on it…." It was so hard to think. He felt so drained, so "out of it" as though he hadn't slept in a week. "It could be a combination, I suppose." He took off his glasses briefly and rubbed his eyes. "I wish I had answers…or even a solid guess…"

"Then, all we have to do is tell Wolfram that he's mistaken," Gwendal suggested, confident that this would make all well again. Speedy, efficient solutions. He really liked those.

"With respect, I disagree." Murata put his glasses on and adjusted them with a finger. "To have an entirely new set of memories…or even to be told that everything you know is wrong…" He shook his head. "…To have that forced onto you…" He put his elbows on the table, laced his hands together, and rested his chin on them. "It has happened to me twice, later in my lifetime than usual…I remember… It's sketchy, but, I recall…" Why was this so hard to admit? These people were his friends. They would understand. "Twice, I almost…" Murata's voice grew husky and low, "Feelings you don't understand with nothing to tie them to…memories that are disjointed and in vivid detail…" How to put this delicately? He closed his eyes briefly and admitted, "It's the kind of thing that can break you."

Murata looked at Gwendal. "For now, considering his current physical state, is it absolutely necessary to tell him? That's my only question."

"True," Gissela said. It made sense.

"We can't tell him, then, until he's stronger," Yuuri agreed. But Murata could sense that some part of the double black's heart was aching and he didn't want to admit exactly why. Or, possibly, he was denying the extent to his hurt feelings because now was not the time to analyze.

For once, Wolfram would come first.

"As you explained to Greta," Murata said, trying his best to be supportive, "we will find a way, Shibuya. Everyone is here to help."

"Yes, we will." Conrad gave the room his trademark secretive smile. "We'll focus on his body healing first and, then, when the time is right, we'll tell him gently and properly."

"Who knows? Maybe his memories will return to normal by that time." Murata gave Yuuri a pat on the back to assure him. But the reality was that he had no idea how this whole scenario would really play out. Worse yet, the sage had a feeling that there were other elements to this situation that had gone unnoticed—even by him.

Murata returned alone, shutting the door behind him silently. He hoped not to wake the blond resting in the next bed. But the moment he approached, Wolfram detected his movements and opened his eyes. He watched the sage pull the covers back and sit wearily on his bed.

The springs gave a squeak.

Murata stretched his arms.

Head on the pillow, Wolfram looked to his left, still watching him with green eyes.

"So, husband. You were taking quite a long time in the privy." A small smirk came to his lips. "I doubt it was dysentery. Did my brothers try to convince you to leave me or were they so crass as to try to get Yuuri Heika to order it?"

Murata curled his legs into the bed and reclined. He folded his arms behind his head, propping it up. "Neither one."

A disbelieving "hmmm" came to the sage's ears. This was not the "Wolfram" that Murata knew. But who knew the way Wolfram and Yuuri spoke to each other in bed before they fell asleep? Or, maybe, this was the "Wolfram" who would have been had Yuuri accepted his heart earlier.

"But you took quite a group with you for such a simple jaunt to relieve yourself," the blond observed.

"No fooling you, huh?" There was a wink that followed it.

"Yes, I am not the fool they believe I am," Wolfram agreed easily, getting up out of the bed. To the sage's surprise, he nimbly stepped over and lifted the covers on his bed with "Slide over."

"With me?" Murata glanced at the door.

"Do it," the blond almost demanded, a bratty tone creeping in.

"Well…" Yes, there was great temptation now, he had to admit, as he followed orders and tried to stay in character. The problem was that the blond fire wielder was toothsome: slim built, sunny-haired, and boyishly handsome in the face. The voice was teasing at times with a slightly husky lilt. Just his type—unfortunately. Murata's dark eyes fell on the closed door again.

The bishonen chuckled at him as he tucked them both in under the blankets. "Why are you like this? You've never complained before. I'm usually the prude…but we're newlyweds. Who can blame us?" Wolfram snuggled closer but didn't get the instant gratification he was looking for. Murata was stiff in the shoulders but nowhere else. "Hmm… But, I can see your point." He turned his head to look at the door as well. "If we get caught, gossip may spread about what we can do in an infirmary bed." The pale-skinned beauty leaned in near and whispered into Murata's ear, "I am quite flexible and you are a lucky man."

Murata forced his head away at an angle and reminded him, "There is a reason why we are both here." He tried to focus on his own symptoms for once, them being of use at the moment. He let his exhaustion show. "Not tonight, Dear. I have a headache."

At that, Wolfram's face slackened and there was a spark of fear in his eyes. "How bad are you? Is that why you left the room? You didn't want me to hear?" He put a callused hand against Murata's forehead. Was there a fever? He bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. "Humans have such frail bodies… I should have realized. I should have thought of your welfare first. Forgive my selfishness…everyone says I am selfish…that and more…I…"

"Calm down," Murata said firmly. "We are both here…together…where we need to be. We're fine."

The blond frowned at him slightly, disbelieving him. "You would say anything to keep me from worrying." He shook a finger at him. "I know you." With his good hand, he carded black hair away tenderly. "In this life, I am first in your heart."

The sage swallowed thickly at that. "First…"

"Yes, I know this," Wolfram told him with a slightly playful edge. "And, for that blessing, I am grateful." He placed his head on Murata's shoulder and felt the warmth there. Murata could smell Wolfram and his slightly musky scent combined with the herbs used to scrub the poison off. A part of him couldn't help wondering what Wolfram's skin smelled like on an ordinary day.

"And I love you, too…every part of me does," Wolfram whispered intimately. "You are The Great Sage and I am only a lonely knight. I have nothing of any real value to offer you. I can give you neither children nor an easy life. But you have…my heart, my loyalty, and my protection. And should the heavens grant my only wish, I would gladly trade any cruel fate you have with mine." The blond head leaned a little heavier and Murata found himself placing an arm around Wolfram's shoulder, bringing him in. "I know you have told Shinou that in your next life, you will be born anew and you will forget all of your past lives…your past 'selves'. And, in doing so, you will forget me. But, I am fine with that." He rubbed his blond locks slightly against Murata, enjoying the feeling. "To free you from your painful memories and your sorrows is worth the price of forgetting me."

Murata held the thin body against his a little tighter.

"And in this lifetime," Wolfram promised, "knowing that your memories will never truly stay…I will enjoy the days we have left and treasure you… every moment that you are mine…"

A sigh came next. A sad one.

The sage waited for more, but it never came. The room with the row of eight beds grew silent and all Murata could feel was the fire wielder's gentle breathing. "Are…you asleep?" he asked hesitantly, turning his own head to the side for a better view and touching the bandaged face gently.

It was only then that Murata realized that Wolfram had been crying.

.

* * *

.

Early morning came and much to Conrad and Yuuri's surprise, there were two in Murata's bed sleeping soundly. Murata, his hospital gown loose around his shoulders, had his arms possessively around Wolfram and the blond seemed comforted. His golden hair was splayed out on the shared pillow and thick, dark blond eyelashes rested on pale skin.

"I think we should go have breakfast," the double black told his godfather. Yuuri's mouth was a tight, thin line and he was making his way for the door before he even heard Murata's soft comment. "He's been waking every three or four hours. His face and hand are still burning."

Yuuri turned back. "Wha-?"

Conrad looked at Murata as he sat up more in the bed and put his glasses on.

"On top of that, something is still wrong…with both of us. I'm certain of it. " The young sage's eyes barely focused on the visitors. He wasn't embarrassed about the situation in the bed he found himself in. Their night together was totally innocent. He wouldn't apologize for that.

Yuuri knelt down next to the bed, looking at them both as though he could make some sort of sense out of things. "Do you know what it is?"

Murata frowned slightly at his own incompetence. "I'll meet with Gissela today and suggest that we look up a few things in the old texts. Maybe, we can find some answers there." He put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We'll do our best, right?"

The double black looked back and forth between the two in the bed and gave a small nod. "Our best," he echoed. But, once again, it seemed that his emotions were conflicting. It wasn't hard to tell.

"You could help in a small way, though, if you have the time," Murata suggested and, without hesitation, the double black nodded curiously. "When he's strong enough to get out and about around the castle, spend some time with him. Maybe, he will remember more if he's with you."

The sage waited to see how that suggestion went over.

"That's not a bad idea," Conrad said, his voice cheerful. "We could have him enjoy a meal or, maybe, take tea in the rose garden."

The double black seemed a bit more upbeat. "Yeah, and Greta would like it, too, because she misses him a lot."

"Then, it is agreed." Murata put his hand out and the two of them shook on it while Conrad smiled on.

"Now," Murata said, looking down at the sleeping blond, "all you have to do is feel better."

.

* * *

.

Murata'd come back from the privy—this time, really needing to go. The healers were leaving, having finished changing the bandages on Wolfram's face. His eyes were closed and, for some odd reason, he seemed incredibly alone.

_I've seen that way about him before. Why have I never really noticed it?_

Scratching his head, Murata got back into the bed next to Wolfram and tried, for the next two hours, to sleep. But the room was quiet—a little too quiet. And Murata was growing tired of the silence. Silence always bothered him somehow. He needed noise of some particular kind to keep him going. He didn't even mind houses that settled—giving odd sounds in the night that would keep anyone else awake.

The sage pulled the covers back only to find his sleeve tugging, getting his attention. He turned and faced Wolfram watching him musingly.

"Going somewhere?" the fire wielder asked, sounding better.

"Why don't you try going back to sleep?" Murata suggested. "You've been having a hard time…not sleeping well…and I think the rest would be good for you." The sage glanced at the bandaged face. "How is the burning?"

"I'm fine," he dismissed all too easily.

_A lie. You don't like admitting to weakness._ But that would be typical. "Then, back to sleep."

A cocky smile from his bandaged face and the blond snaked an arm around Murata's waist, holding him. "A kiss first."

Murata found himself sweating slightly at the thought. He had to be good. He'd seen for himself the reaction Yuuri had had just from witnessing his "fiancé" in bed with someone else. _And it was reasonable to react that way _he told himself.

"Well?"

Murata had to think fast. "Umm…" he covered his mouth. "Morning breath…sorry…"

Wolfram almost laughed at him. "I don't care."

"No, seriously." The sage tried being charming and flirted a bit, hand still over his mouth as though being coy. "I'm absolutely terrible…unappealing…revolting…" What else could he say? He was running out of descriptors.

The blond's expression gradually changed. He folded his arms against his chest the best that he could, relaxed in the bed, and turned his face away. This was the "Wolfram" that Murata knew well and it surprised him that now was the time that he should "return." But it wasn't from a memory coming to mind or recognizing an object. It was from something else—suspicion.

A bratty "humph" and "Do as you like" was what the blond told him. There was a sudden wall there, as though Wolfram had built it brick by brick unnoticeably for when he needed it most. And, apparently, he needed it right now.

The sage readjusted his glasses and looked down his nose at him. "Something?"

"I told you…" and a shrug "…Do whatever you like… Apparently, I'm just as 'terrible, unappealing, and revolting' as you are…" Then he sat up and gave Murata the kind of bullying stare that Yuuri always got when really pushed to the limit. "But, for different reasons."

Murata, confused, could only blink at that. "What exactly…?"

"What do you mean by that?" the blond interrupted. "That my own husband won't hold me the way he used to? Or, make love to me? Or even so much as kiss me?"

_Oh, no._ This was bad. "You see, von Bielefeld, I…"

"That!" Wolfram pointed at him, practically jabbing a finger into his shoulder. "I have changed or done something! I knew it! Because you haven't called me 'von Bielefeld' for ages!" The incredulous expression just emphasized his last point.

Murata cringed at his mistake. Why had he made it? He thought he knew better but it only slipped out at the last second. And arguing with someone sitting so closely next to him, in the same bed, was not what he wanted, either.

They had to stop this. He would have to think of a way.

"So, why don't you just come out and tell me what it is?!" Wolfram fumed. "We both know it. So, just tell me…say it…get it over with!"

Murata frowned and returned with, "I have no idea what you're getting at."

"Yes, you do!" Wolfram's eyes were filled with angry tears. "I'm not the way I was." He placed a hand against the fresh bandage on his face. "The healers have told me already. There's a possibility that my face will still have scars from this. I don't mind the hand. I can still hold a sword. But, my face!" He shook his head angry, impossibly furious with fate for putting him in this place. "It's my only redeeming feature. And, now, I've lost it."

The sage could feel his temper, his voice lowering dangerously. "Do you think I would be so shallow as to reject you over some scarred skin?"

"Obviously! Who wouldn't?" the blond growled back, refusing to let even a single tear fall. He would do anything to keep that from happening. "I've been called 'pretty' and a 'doll' behind my back my whole life. And you can only _imagine_ what courtiers have said to my face…my attractive face…my whole life. On the day we were married, people told you that I was a prize…a beautiful prize…nothing more."

A dangerous glare lit in Murata's eyes, taking Wolfram aback a little. "When I fall in love with someone, it's for what is in here." He placed an open palm against Wolfram's heart, feeling it beating furiously through the hospital gown. "A pretty face fades as the seasons change. I should know that better than anyone. But, adoration, tenderness, and companionship are the truest treasures that anyone can have."

"But, Ken, look at what you have to deal with!" Yes, it was "Ken" and not the loving "husband."

"Did you listen to nothing I just said?!" He was coming very close to losing it.

"Ken!" Wolfram growled in return, not letting up.

And, at that moment, the sage pulled his hand back and barely stopped himself from striking Wolfram. Not unpredictably, the blond simply sat there—unflinching—waiting to take the blow as though deserving it. Not even he would defend himself when it came to The Great Sage of Shin Makoku. Husband or not, he would take anything directed at him. Words, only words, would he allow.

Murata slowly lowered his hand, furious with the two of them.

Wolfram lowered his head in defeat. "I'm sorry… Forgive me…" A tear fell followed by a second one onto the white blanket. "For your sake, I shall hope for the best. Maybe, it won't scar after all… But, to not desire this body would still be reasonable."

He felt like leaving, like walking away and not turning back. Wolfram wasn't listening to him—deciding to not understand. Had this been an ordinary lover, he probably would have. "Shut up," Murat a sighed and wrapped his arms around Wolfram, pulling him into a warm hug instead. "In time, you'll see just how much you mean to everyone…and you'll see your true place in the world."

_Which isn't with me... It's with Shibuya._

"As you say," Wolfram whispered in a wet voice, resting a chin on Murata's narrow shoulder.

"I'll get you there…to that place," he promised, burying his face against soft blond hair. "Don't worry. Leave it to me."

.

* * *

.

It was a sunny late afternoon and Murata had just finished his bath. Walking with the mien of a defeated man, he passed by a window only to see Wolfram, wandering in one of Lady Cheri's flower gardens, admiring the white roses. There was a noble, knightly quality about him as he did so coming from the way he walked and the position he held his head when something caught his eye. The blond picked a perfect, delicate flower and had a brief sniff of it, enjoying the scent.

"It's good that you're out," Murata said aloud. "Your favorite blue uniform suits you much better than that hospital gown."

Then, a baseball rolled across the neatly cut green lawn and Yuuri, in his baseball uniform, jogged after it with an amused expression on his face. The smile widened to a grin when he noticed Wolfram standing there. He seemed legitimately happy to see the blond. Then, he leaned over to pick up the ball, talking all the while.

"Ah…good… He's doing what I asked. This may help," Murata observed. But, the sage also found himself, for his own sake, feeling dejected. Something unquestionably sad tugged at his heart from watching the scene play out below him. Disappointment and loneliness. Those were emotions he wasn't expecting. He should be feeling relief. He wanted to when it came to this topic.

But, he wasn't.

No, he was a "grown up" many times over. He couldn't allow himself to be…

"Keep on, Shibuya," he urged suddenly, trying to force himself to feel happy. Then, he looked to Wolfram. "Come on… Not long ago, this little bit of attention from Shibuya would have made you happy for the rest of the week. It's your heart's desire…your true heart."

Wolfram stood politely, hands behind his back. He gave, it seemed, very short and simple answers to Yuuri's questions. A slight nod of the head here and a dim smile there. And a few well-choreographed steps away each time Yuuri tried to come near.

"Not going well now…" Murat said to himself, narrowing his eyes as he studied them. "It seems, von Bielefeld, you are treating Shibuya the same way you'd treat any monarch."

Greta came racing along, as only a child her age could, and then ran up to Wolfram, thrilled to see him. She pointed at his bandaged face. "She's worried about her other father," Murata observed, "and he is putting her fears to rest, I see. Good…very mature of him…" The child modeled her new sandals. Wolfram seemed to be complementing them. Then, Greta spoke in an animated way, arms waving, and she pointed back at the castle. Clearly, she wanted something. Most likely, she wanted the three of them to spend time together.

A polished, polite smile and a low bow of apology.

The child looked awfully disappointed and turned to Yuuri who, it appeared, could do nothing.

Light flashed across the sage's glasses. "I suppose that is my cue to take center stage again." And, as he walked, his heart felt lighter. He chastised himself, though—telling himself that he should not be so eager to be joining the three outside. He was "the sage" and his job was to remain not only loyal but aloof as well. And, in the long run, it would be much easier that way. But, the cruel reality was that he enjoyed being with them. And the sad truth was, even for a short time, he appreciated having a place to belong and a role to play out.

Murata went down the stone steps to the lower floor, opened the nearest door, and took the moss-covered flagstone path out. Quickly enough, the three of them saw him approaching. And even though they had been arguing earlier, the moment Wolfram saw him, his eyes lit up. He was looking at him exactly the same way he always did at Yuuri.

And Yuuri noticed.

And he almost sulked.

Murata forced a placid smile. "Hi, everyone. I was just thinking that tonight would be a wonderful night for star gazing with some delicious snacks. Why don't we do that?" He turned to Greta. "Wouldn't that be fun? The moonrise should be spectacular with this being so close to the full moon."

"Yes! Yes!" She rushed up to Yuuri, excited all over again. "Can we all do that, Yuuri? Please? I can stay up past my bedtime and everything?!"

"Well…uh…sure…" His shy smile returned. He placed a hand behind his head sheepishly. It seemed like everyone was watching him.

"I think it will be fun, right? It beats hospital food," Murata said to Wolfram. Oh, yes. He'd brought that up—the infirmary. Their argument. That was probably a mistake, though.

Wolfram gave a short nod. But his mind seemed to be on other things now or other worries. So, Murata tried again with a loving voice. "Right, Wolf?"

Green eyes looked to him, warm and pleased. "Ah…yes…"

_So, he really wanted to make up_, the sage thought.

With intention, he stood next to the fire wielder and told the group, "Then, it's a deal. It should be fun." He got a playful nudge from the bishonen and a loving smile which was reciprocated. "I'll go talk to the kitchen staff," Murata said agreeably as they all walked inside. But, from the corner of his eye, Murata could still see the reaction Yuuri had from him using his "Wolf" nickname for Wolfram. It was still there, frozen. And, strangely, Murata realized, he didn't feel the least bit guilt-ridden for doing so. His own heart had a pleasant purr and appreciated the way the back of Wolfram's hand would, at times, casually brush up against his as they walked.

.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

.

.

Greta was skipping around in her new yellow sandals, running off some energy while Doria finished packing the last of their snacks in a picnic basket in the kitchen. It felt like it had been ages since she'd had any fun at all and Greta was so excited. The little girl prattled on and on, not really caring if Doria was paying attention or not.

Outside, Yuuri and Murata were waiting patiently. But, more than once, it seemed as though the double black was working up the courage to say something to him. Murata decided he'd let Yuuri bring up whatever the subject was when he was ready.

A groaning of wood got their attention. Conrad opened the door and approached them with the red and white checked blanket they'd use to sit on tonight draped over his right arm. It belonged to Yozak, who couldn't make it because of work, but he was still kind enough to loan it out.

"You'll be joining us, right?" Yuuri asked Conrad hopefully.

"Thank you for inviting me earlier…Yozak sends his regrets again."

"He can come next time."

The sun was dipping slowly and the trees were a lovely black silhouette against a blushing sky. Only now were the stars beginning to peep out. It would be a beautiful night.

The door opened again and Wolfram appeared, looking tired but firm in his decision to go on this outing. He straightened his blue jacket a little as he walked, trying to be presentable in front of his king as well as his husband. The blond joined the little group and then turned back toward the castle, looking for Greta. He lifted his face up toward the window and his hand made a quick motion at his side—fingers gripping nothing.

"Is there a problem?" Murata asked cautiously at the strange behavior.

"Just…for a second…" Wolfram watched an upper story window a bit longer and then met his husband's gaze. "I definitely saw a shadow move. But, now that I think about it, it seems as though Shinou was watching from the window. Out of habit, I reached for my sword before I realized who it was."

"I believe you. It's the kind of thing he'd do," Murata affirmed lightheartedly, making nothing out of it.

Wolfram chewed his lower lip a little. Slipping back to formality, "Still, reaching for my sword…not that I'm armed or anything… It is a discourteous gesture at best and…"

"Don't worry," Yuuri said, trying to stay positive. "He probably knows you're not one hundred percent. He'll be okay with it."

"I agree," Murata confirmed, smiling his best. "And, if not, I'll talk to him." Maybe, that would get the blond to drop the subject.

A tug at the lips downward and a low but jealous-toned, "Shinou favors you. I'm sure you can plead my case…if need be…"

Murata put his hands casually in his pockets and looked down at his shoes. "It's not a big deal. Trust me."

The door opened again and Doria brought the picnic basket and the happy little princess with her into the yard. "Heika, Geika…everyone…" she said as her greeting as she presented the basket over to Murata. The sage took the curved wicker handle, gave a quiet "thank you" without making eye contact with Doria, and stepped closer to Wolfram, making brief small talk with him about the contents—something along the lines of "I expect you to eat at least one small sandwich…"

Then, Murata handed the basket to Greta. "I'm sure you can find the perfect place for us to watch the stars."

With a very serious nod, the child took Wolfram by the hand and got Conrad to follow her. She had a plan, obviously, about where they should be. It was entertaining. Murata walked nonchalantly along with Yuuri at his side—enjoying the spectacle in front of him. Greta had learned quite a bit about giving men marching orders from Anissina.

"Speaking of 'rude,' Murata, I think you were not very nice to Doria just now," Yuuri commented in a low voice, not wanting to be overheard. "This isn't like you. Did she do something wrong? Are you mad at her?" He cocked his head to the side, curious about the answer.

The sage almost laughed at his best friend. "She wasn't offended at all, if you noticed." He went on, glancing at the night sky. "Actually, I was behaving in a perfectly normal way for a high profile husband in Shin Makoku."

Yuuri blinked at that.

Murata debated a little within. Should he tell all? Yes, he decided. He should this time. The topic had come up after all. "In this world, had I gone all sparkly 'doe-eyed' at Doria…to look that happy to see her…would be sending the signal 'Oi, baby, I'm hot and looking for love. Why not join me in bed with that basket and you can be the pudding at the end of the meal?'" Murata grinned evilly at Yuuri. It was amusing. "Instead, I'm playing the part of a _good_ husband who respects his spouse. In other words, I'm not flirting."

"You're being awful," Yuuri complained with absolutely no heat behind it. "And as for 'sparkly'… I don't do that to Wolfram."

Murata took a few more steps and his heart felt a bit sore for his friend's sake at what he'd have to reveal next. Or, maybe, it was one of those rare occasions when his own conscience actually hurt. "To tell the truth…in this world…you do. Your behavior, your smiles…your rejections, are so comical…so amusing… that it is impossible not to laugh." He glanced at the horizon, taking in the twinkling jewels. "Even I am guilty of it. Some part of me knew better than to do that but…"

How would the double black take this?

"Then, he'd be happier with you," Yuuri said glumly as though he knew it all along. "He'd be better off. After all, he's said it already."

"Happier?" The sage shook his head. "No, we had an argument this morning…our first. Only, he doesn't realize that. His memories are a mish-mash of fact and fiction." The sage stepped over a clump of green brush and then another awkwardly. "And, he's not the only one with issues. I might as well come clean at this point. I'm having _problems_, too."

Yuuri stared at him, worried for his friend now. "What, exactly?"

Murata held back for a beat, it being in his nature to do so as The Great Sage. But his friend's noticeable concern convinced him. And there was no way he could say "never mind" and be done with it once Yuuri gave him _that look_. "It seems… Today, while taking a bath, I was trying to think of something that would help you in your new negotiations with the human country of Zhahel. I was going to suggest a few things like having the sex slave tied up and sent back to that country wearing the garb of a fishwife as an insult, a demand of 1000 gold bars of tribute, and insisting that new negotiations can take place eight years to the date of your attack."

"Ummm… She really was a sex slave?" Yuuri breathed uncomfortably, tugging at his collar and looking self-conscious.

Murata gave a level stare. "Obviously."

"Everybody knew?"

"Yes."

"But I didn't know."

"Yes…"

"Oh…" Even in the shadows of dusk, it was clear that the double black was embarrassed.

Briefly, Murata removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his right hand, pinching the bridge of his nose as he walked. His headache was starting to return and it was annoying. "Anyway… all of these demands would keep their ambassadors scrambling, probably in false denial, that they'd ever made an attempt on your life in the first place. I'm certain word of their 'failure' has reached their shores and those of neighboring human countries by now. So, their lies and claims of innocence will come flooding in and we will have the upper hand in the short-term." Murata's face grew hard and he put his glasses on again. "I have only a vague memory of ways to insult Zhahel without causing deaths…which is your preference…but I know I should have more suggestions to offer you…"

The sage focused his eyes on something very far away and his defeated expression returned. "Not only that, but I am losing memories…about history, poetry, places, people…" He frowned at Yuuri, seeking something. "When did we first meet?"

The double black put a hand on his shoulder, concerned for him. "You don't remember that?"

He looked away. "I've lost it. That day is gone."

"Murata!"

"Shhhh," he put a finger to his lips as casually as he could. "You're too loud."

Yuuri stopped him anyway, not allowing a step further. "We've got to go back and see Gissela now!" he said lowly but with emphasis. "We've got to do something."

Murata pointed to the cheerful group in front of him. "Let's just enjoy our night together. I'm sure there's nothing she can do right now. She's researching the ancient texts with Gunther, and Ulrike is burning the midnight oil at the temple as we speak." The double black was about to disagree when he added, "Besides, your fiancé and I have an afternoon appointment with Gissela tomorrow. So, we'll discuss everything then."

"Well, if you say so," Yuuri agreed slowly, but against what he saw as good judgment.

"I'm glad," Murata said and forced a smile. "So, let's have a good time and some food…watch Greta be happy for a change. Come on." And, with that, the two of them approached the red and white checked blanket with everyone assembled. They took off their shoes, knelt down, and let the little girl play hostess under the night sky.

Along one side, Wolfram sat in the middle with Murata on his right and Yuuri on his left. The blond passed a plate of sugar cookies to his king while Greta finished pouring a steaming cup with the aroma of mint wafting on the wind.

"Tea, Yuuri?"

"Yes… Look, a shooting star!"

"Ah!" Greta pointed out the tail's brief arc in the sky. "It was green, Yuuri!"

"Probably made of copper," Murata explained.

"You're so smart," Wolfram complemented with a hint of pride.

Conrad took a sip of his drink. "Nature is certainly amazing."

"Yuuri? Yuuri? What did you wish for?" the little princess asked, eager to know.

The double black's eyes glanced at a certain blond nibbling on the crust of a cucumber sandwich. "If I tell that secret, my wish will never come true."

The child was intrigued. "Really, Yuuri?"

"Really."

Thus was the fragile magic of a shooting star.

.

* * *

.

It turned out that Greta was the first to drop off, her little head resting against Conrad's arm. The breeze was pleasant and the clear night perfect.

Murata had pointed out the constellations, starting with Orion's belt and moving on to the Pleiades or "seven sisters." Just to prove to himself that he could still do it, Murata told the story of Orion, The Mighty Hunter, chasing the seven sisters for seven years until their father begged Zeus to step in and save them, turning them into stars in the sky.

_But in doing so, it meant that they died_, the sage thought to himself. _Or, maybe, death is all that I have left to think about._

"That was a good story, huh?" he said, more to himself than anyone else. Yes, he had memory enough to tell the tale and the little princess hummed a very sleepy agreement that it was an interesting story to her even though she only caught about half of it.

Wolfram was sleepy, too. His head nodded up and down until, finally, he found a pleasant place to rest it. Yuuri's eyes widened at first when the blond head found its way onto his shoulder. Then, the double black tilted his head so that Wolfram would be more comfortable. He smiled warmly as though this were the greatest complement of his life. And, perhaps, it was.

"Yuuri…miss you," Wolfram sighed.

Murata tried to be happy for them to the point of forcing himself. This was what Wolfram would have wanted before the incident and, now, Yuuri was accepting affection even with Conrad watching (and pretending not to). But there was something terribly lonely about this. Murata knew that he would come to this place eventually—where he would no longer be Wolfram's beloved "husband" and only be sage to a monarch and a castle.

Looking on but never becoming a part of things.

His duty. His only purpose. It was so hard to believe in free will when he'd never had a taste of it.

_Wouldn't it have been great to?_

No matter how many lovers he took in his past lives, they never filled that hole in his heart—the one Shinou created in the beginning. But, this time, he found himself slipping slowly into those same feelings again. The true ones. Not settling for someone because that person was there and convenient, but to feel a connection, a soul bond.

Murata knew the difference between Shinou and Wolfram. They didn't have the same personality or the same motives. But, in a way, both were heroes and Murata loved that mythical hero type—and he loved myths themselves because they always carried deeper meanings.

Orion couldn't have the seven sisters and he knew that he could never have Wolfram.

Some things were never meant to be.

A wounded, bandaged hand patted the ground lightly, searching. Murata's jaw dropped a little when the slim fingers closed around his and the blond smiled to himself. "Stay, Ken," Wolfram sighed.

Murata and Yuuri exchanged glances. Things had just gotten more complicated.

.

* * *

.

"Goodnight, princess," Wolfram said kindly, hiding a yawn behind his hand. Conrad was carrying the sleeping child, her head resting against his chest and legs dangling. She looked like a sleeping china doll.

Standing near a sconce in the hallway, Wolfram faced Yuuri and gave a polite bow, trying not to appear as sleepy as he felt because it would be rude to his king. "Majesty, I sincerely hope you had a most enjoyable evening." A brief smirk in the sage's direction. "Come to think of it, I believe we all did as well." Another slight, formal bow in Yuuri's direction followed it.

"Yeah, it was great," Yuuri agreed but seemed a bit long-faced at Wolfram's oppressively formal wording and absently handed the empty basket to a kitchen servant who happened to be passing by. The young Mazoku girl gave an overly "inviting" smile that lingered and a curtsey, revealing her ample bosom in that low cut dress, which went entirely unnoticed by Wolfram. Or, at least, it seemed so to Murata until the blond pivoted casually on one heel in his direction and wiggled an eyebrow as if to say, "Our king might be getting lucky tonight. Servants are so willing."

Murata pursed his lips, giving Wolfram that "drop it" vibe.

Wolfram covered another yawn and used that as a chance to shake his head "yes." He'd gotten the message clearly enough. Even in jest, there would be no point in causing any kind of rift between the sage and the king. A good knight, even a husbandly one, should always do his best to keep the peace within the castle.

"I'd like to do this again sometime…only not in winter," Murata joked lamely. Lame jokes were Conrad's department and the tall man seemed to enjoy this one, giving a smile in return.

"Oh, yes…you would, even then," Wolfram countered lightheartedly. "With enough coffee or hot chocolate…you would."

A slight chuckle. "Add a little warmed spiced wine to the list and you have my full attention…"

"I believe you," Wolfram said with a wry smile, coming closer to him as a playful challenge. Their faces drew close.

"Only for medicinal purposes." A laugh followed. Murata glanced to Yuuri and then back to the blond once more. Oh, yes. That reminded him. "And, along those lines… Don't forget our appointment to meet with Gissela after lunch tomorrow. We did give our word after all."

"I promised," the blond soured. He hated the idea of going back so soon. "I know…I know…" Wolfram agreed but with an annoyed twitch on his face. He glowered at the floor and put a gentle hand on his bandaged face. "At least, they allowed us to take leave of that awful place. That's the only reason why I'm tolerating fussy healers and set appointments."

Yuuri tilted his head to the side. "Let you _both_ go…?"

When he phrased it that way, the mood lightened again. Wolfram gave an impish smile and took Murata's hand in his, lacing fingers. "I am so absolutely delighted," the bishonen told him. "We do not have to spend yet another evening in infirmary beds. This is such a relief to my back."

"Then, tonight, you're sleeping…?" Yuuri almost hated bringing the topic up.

A much wider smile. "Yes, in our own room," Wolfram practically crowed, "and I am most grateful for that."

Murata could see the shifting emotions on Yuuri's face: "What? No sneaking into my room? The two of you alone together? Seriously? Not that it bothers me or anything, but… Okay, maybe it does… Of course, it does, but…" And all Murata could do in response to that was give a small shrug of agreement. All of those things were true.

Tonight, he would have Wolfram all to himself.

Alone.

In a bedroom…

Just for a second, Wolfram flashed him a hungry, savage look as they strolled away together.

Murata bit his lower lip.

If his guess was right, Heaven help him.

.

* * *

.

"It feels like ages since we've been back," Wolfram told him, walking along just the two of them now. "There's nothing like sleeping in your own bed."

"I see…" He quirked a smile.

_Only, you've never actually slept in my bed._

"Oh, and I was thinking about having some new blankets made for us with touches of silk on the border. I think dark blue would be good and…"

Murata only half-paid attention to what was being said. Instead, he watched Wolfram. His steps were slowing. He had to be tired. This satisfied Murata. Possibly, there was hope for him and his own precious body tonight after all—if he could delay things. Tomorrow would be another matter entirely.

They passed a pair of guards on duty outside of Gwendal's office and Wolfram, quite openly, brushed up against Murata as they walked, making Murata bite his lower lip. It was proving harder and harder to resist temptation.

More servants and more guards despite the late hour. It didn't matter to Wolfram, though, his open fondness and affection were unmistakable.

Murata could see where they were going. _Why am I not surprised?_ he thought.

Arm in arm now, the blond was leading the sage to the quarters he always had when staying at Blood Pledge Castle. Of course, Wolfram would know about that. And the fire wielder waited expectantly as Murata searched his pockets for the iron key.

A tumble of the lock as the sage searched his mind, trying to piece together something intelligent to say. Non-romantic preferably.

It was dark with that hint of fresh, lemony soap. The maids had been here recently.

"Ummm, Wolf… Why don't we…?"

They had no sooner entered the room when the door suddenly slammed shut and locked again. Wolfram pounced—kissing him hungrily, pulling Murata's frame against his—demanding submission—and, then, before the sage had come to his senses, they were against the wall.

"W-Wolf!" Murata gasped desperately, praying to get some air into his lungs before Wolfram sucked everything out of him.

A hungry nipping at his neck.

"W-Wolf?"

"Hmmm….Yes…?" in a distracted tone which met his ears.

_We can't do this! How do I stop it?! _ His mind was whirling. There had to be something. It had to be good and it had to be now before he got to the point where he couldn't trust himself anymore_. I need a diversion…some sort of a disruption…_

Hands roamed around his waist—a hand dipped down and squeezed his bottom.

And then… _Got it!_ Almost out of time, the Fates had, mercifully, handed Murata a minor distraction. It just came to him. It was absolutely lame, not the "good" plan he was hoping for, but it would have to do in a pinch. He'd seen it in an old black and white movie once.

"Could you…Wolf…?" Oh, where was he putting his thigh? Murata's eyes widened at that. A shuddering, deep breath. _A-Amazing…He's that good. No, wait! No more!_ Murata steeled himself and tried again. He had to, but he could feel himself on the verge of caving in. Who wouldn't? "Husband? Could you…uhh…" Murata's voice rose in pitch. That was a very talented thigh, indeed. "...Light the candles?"

A naughty laugh met his ears, rich like chocolate.

"And I thought you were sleepy," Murata pointed out weakly. He tried to wiggle free somehow. It wasn't working. In fact, Wolfram liked it greatly—the challenge—and let him know it. Sharp gasps filled the room from both of them.

Murata licked his lips, determined to focus. Determined to try again. "At least, you were sleepy when we came back from stargazing, right?" He closed his eyes after the question. Wolfram was incredibly well-skilled with an ear nibble, too, and Murata's whole body was reacting to it, singing sensuously, never mind the roaming hands searching ways to undo clothes.

Murata held his breath for a second. He had to stop himself before a moan escaped.

Another deep kiss from Wolfram. "I was tired…but now…" he confessed in a husky voice.

Murata jumped when his butt was pinched. "Lights, please?" He'd be insistent on that for a start. "Please?"

Nothing.

"I…did say 'please,' you know." Murata's teeth were clinched when he gritted it out as a body writhed against his. "Or, is begging something you take pleasure in from someone like me."

Yes, he had higher status in Shin Makoku. Wolfram would have to obey, like it or not.

"Fine," Wolfram said in the tone of "killjoy." The blond had one arm around the sage's waist, cradling him close. "If you want to watch me at my work so badly…" Left handed, he snapped his fingers and three of the five candles in the room lit.

Warm shifting light danced across the walls.

"Mood lighting?" Murata teased and gently broke away as charmingly as he could. He'd seen that done in old movies more than once. It was a skill he didn't know he had—copying that kind of coy movement.

The dark haired sage walked toward his dresser and took his time rooting around for his pajamas that were right before him. Maybe, he could cool himself down while he was at it. It made him wonder, though. How their double black king could resist this night after night was beyond him. Even if they were doing nothing more than sleeping side by side each night, the temptation of this blond bishonen was beyond compare.

Wolfram didn't answer. He looked at his hand briefly and then, with a vague expression, followed Murata to the dresser. "Where are my things?" the blond asked, now slightly annoyed. This was the "old Wolfram" creeping back again.

"Feeling left out?" Murata half-joked but wondered if he'd hit upon something that had nothing to do with clothing.

The blond made his way to the closet. "Maybe, in here…?" A brief pause and then, "Oi! Where are my uniforms? My shirts? My boots?" He was getting more and more livid by the second.

_Oh, that's right! Everything is over in Shibuya's room._ He wanted to kick himself for not thinking of this sooner. This would take a lot of explaining or, rather, "fibs" in order to keep Wolfram's temper at bay and not create a whole different type of fire in the room.

"It will be fine," Murata assured. "I was thinking of you and I told the maids to clean all of your clothes and personal items so that they'd be perfect."

Wolfram looked left and right, seeing nothing that belonged to him. "Well, they did a good job of making my things 'disappear.' And I'd better damn well get them back as soon as possible."

Murata scratched the back of his head nervously and tried to hide his uncomfortable grin until another thought struck him. _Wait! That means he might try to sleep in just his underwear or, worse, nothing at all!_ Murata tried not to picture either scenario but found himself doing it anyway. He'd just managed to cool down his jets, too.

"And, with that being said," Murata reached in and pulled out his pair of maroon pajamas, "I want you to wear these tonight. I think the color goes well with your hair."

Wolfram accepted the folded set almost reverently. "They're beautiful. But…I don't remember you having them, though."

_Of course, you wouldn't_, Murata thought.

"Did you buy these?" Wolfram asked curiously.

"No, they were a gift."

A jealous frown appeared between Wolfram's eyes. "From…? A woman, maybe? Or, should I not ask…? You went on many adventures before I met you."

Murata placed a hand on his hip and smiled indulgently. "It was a woman. The king's mother sent it to me as a gift."

"Yuuri Heika's mother?" Green eyes widened. Now, it was a wonder to behold and the blond stared at the lining and every stitch much more closely. "I think this is silk. Is it silk?"

"I believe so. And she would be pleased to know that you borrowed them under these circumstances. I'll mention that to her the next time I see her." Murata's smile widened. _Of course, she'd probably be even happier to stick him in a babydoll nightie with thigh-high stockings with little bows on them._ Then, the image hit him and he had to wipe his thumb across his lips. He was drooling.

This was getting too much.

_Hurry up and get better, von Bielefeld. This is getting so hard to take._

"Like this?" Wolfram asked and drew Murata's attention. The blond was wearing the pajamas and just now buttoning up the front. Even in this, he was toothsome—blond hair, pale as the moon skin, and green eyes. Even the bandage on the face and the right hand added that certain something to him—a fresh from the fight kind of vibe that was totally enticing.

"You look wonderful," he said while pulling the covers back "and it will be my honor to hold you in my arms all night long."

Wolfram came close enough to kiss, hovering over his lips. "Will you 'hold me' or hold me?" A wink followed.

A circling of the bed to get on his side, glasses put on the side table. "It is late and we see the healers tomorrow. So, I will just have to keep you with me all night long. You'll stay in my arms and I'll hold you close…keep you warm for a change instead of the other way around. Would that be so bad?"

Wolfram smiled at him. "If my sage commands it," he replied in a sexy voice, "then, I will obey. But, eventually, when we are both much better, you will be mine. That's what I wish for."

Murata pulled the covers over them both, drew Wolfram into his arms, and held him close. "Sleep well and get well soon. Other than that, there is nothing left for me to wish for."

A soft kiss on the cheek.

And, with that, Wolfram fell asleep in Murata's arms and not once did he kick or fidget.

.

* * *

.

Breakfast was relatively uneventful as far as breakfasts went at Blood Pledge Castle. Greta had piled a plate full of pancakes and sausage while Wolfram sat there, back straight in the chair, nibbling on his second piece of dry toast. Gwendal was unhappy about rescheduling the quarterly budget meeting for the castle finances and Yuuri kept asking inane questions like "When we have it, are you sure I need to go?" to which Conrad and Gunther answered him in forms of "yes" in their usual, supportive and polite wording. Lady Cheri picked at a bowl of fruit with her spork, yawning politely behind her delicate hand. She had arrived early this morning from her latest search for free love and had found several wonderful candidates. No one at the table was interested.

Ready to begin the day, Gwendal stood from his chair and swiveled Yuuri a look which told him it was time to start signing papers in his office. To that, the double black sulked his way from the table and only cheered up a little when Greta waved him a fond farewell. Then she, too, left the dining hall for Anissina's lab. That was her usual first stop after breakfast.

Wolfram quirked a grin at Murata. "I want a child someday."

"Sure," Murata joked and took a sip of orange juice, "I'll just go right out and birth you one."

The blond went back to nibbling the top crust off his toast. "I wasn't being flippant," he said tartly only to have the others at the table look uncomfortably at them. Murata felt a small stab of pain for Wolfram. He had no idea what he'd just said.

The sage scratched his chin. Maybe, just maybe, today would be the day to tell Wolfram everything. He might be stronger now and they would be able to remove the bandages as well. Then again, that might be wishful thinking on his part. Gissela had warned him that it would take many days, if not weeks, to heal the skin suitably without causing deep, unsightly scars.

Haste would not work in this case.

Murata sighed inwardly. Physically? Spiritually? Either way, they would have to take this one step at a time.

He stood up and placed a hand on Wolfram's saying, "I have to go to the archives right now…look up a few old friends. I need to see if there's something in there that may help us." He noted that the blond allowed the touch, but was still unhappy with him. The sage leaned down and whispered, "Sorry for hurting you."

Green eyes looked to the side. "You didn't. It's fine."

_You're lying but I know why_, he thought as he pushed his chair in. _You're trying to cover your hurt and disappointment. You let your guard down. You told the truth and I made light of it._

"I'll meet you in our room for a quick lunch, then," the sage told him and made his way for the archives. In the hallway, Murata took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes again. That blinding headache was coming back, building up power inside his head along with throbbing pain. He was worried now with very few people he could confess it to. Each time this happened, he lost something—a day, a moment, a song, a piece of who he was.

And he was afraid that it wasn't coming back.

Already, he was incomplete.

Imperfect.

.

* * *

.

_Where? Where? _

Murata was searching the castle and, at the same time, he was trying not to obsess over the fact that he'd forgotten how to get to his old middle school back on Earth. It wasn't like that knowledge was particularly important at the moment, but it had something to do with Yuuri. _Maybe_. They had attended the same school together for two years and-maybe not. He wasn't sure anymore. He seemed to remember talking about that to someone long ago. _Who was that?_

The sage put a hand to his head. _No, first thing's first._

He peeked as casually as he could into meeting rooms and rounded corners, heading for the next place, barely noticing maids with feather dusters and mops. The old "Murata Ken" would have loved to show great interest in the feather dusting maids. But his new "self" was far from engrossed.

Another room. Empty.

_Not good._

He tried searching harder but, at the same time, he didn't want to appear so. That would only draw attention and cause more trouble.

"What, exactly, is going on?" Gwendal asked, standing behind Murata—making him jump.

"What?" he blinked, surprised. The sage put a hand to his rapidly beating heart. Shinou could never do that to him. He could always feel Shinou's fluctuating energy and the two of them were bound together by those pulsating, invisible threads. Gwendal, on the other hand, was a master of shields and Murata always entertained the idea of the Mazoku Army Commander keeping up some kind of special, low level shield around himself because he wanted a quiet life without too many emotional entanglements. _Then again, that line of thinking could be pure fantasy_, the sage decided.

"I'm waiting for an answer."

"Ah…I'm just looking," Murata tried to sidestep. He began to go on his way when…

"Looking for what?" Gwendal lifted his chin slightly. He always did that when curious and determined to get a straight answer. "I doubt it was for a cup of coffee…which is what I was doing." He motioned in the direction of the Royal Kitchen with the empty mug in his hand.

He grinned a little impishly into the stern face. "You see…"

"Well?"

He was tempted to go on with the farce, but decided it took too much energy to do so. Instead, it would be wiser to get some help. "I've lost Lord von Bielefeld somewhere in the castle. He was supposed to meet me for lunch, but never came. I have no idea where he is now and I wanted to discuss something with him…a possible healing ceremony at Shinou's Temple. Ulrike sent me a messenger pigeon at the archives where I was working."

Gwendal looked both relieved and optimistic at the news. Then, his expression changed. "Wait a minute. Did you say 'missing'? He's been late for how long?"

"I know it doesn't sound like much, but it has been roughly…twenty five minutes. Still, punctuality is very important to him. I can't imagine what's keeping him. I've already tried the restrooms, the baths, meeting rooms, the library…"

"Is he with Yuuri Heika?" There was actually a note of hopefulness in his tone. Some part of Murata felt irritated by that. Yes, he knew that, at some point, he would have to give Wolfram back to their king. But it didn't have to be now. It didn't have to be at this exact moment. He schooled his face into the appropriate bland expression. "I peeked in without Shibuya noticing. He's alone in there with a tower of papers."

_Yes, a 'tower' and Lord von Voltaire, standing here, could have made it less. So, twist the knife a little. See what happens…_

A curt nod. "We'll search together. I know some of Wolfram's favorite hiding places as a child and a few he goes to when Yuuri Heika makes him angry."

"Or hurt," Murata added before he caught himself.

_What am I doing?_ The sage thought. _Usually, I have such a good grip on what I say. I'm no better than 'Meddling Shinou"…getting too wrapped up in this. I need to do something…back away from these emotions…_

_These people…_

_Before I totally lose myself…_

"This way," Gwendal told him.

"Coming," he said.

.

* * *

.

With each moment that passed, Gwendal's booted feet stomped harder and harder on the stone floor. He'd placed his coffee mug on a servant's tray, not waiting to give instructions—just moving on and expecting the sage to follow.

Not that this pleased or displeased Murata.

"If we don't find him in the next fifteen minutes," Gwendal said, "I'm going to ask Conrad and Yozak to join in the search."

Murata had to scramble his legs to keep up with the long strides Gwendal took up the stairs.

"Agreed."

"Though, just to be on the safe side, if you smell smoke, let me know. That's how we've found Wolfram in the past."

Murata's face cracked a smile. Though, in reality, he wanted to laugh out loud at that only for the fact that it was absolutely true. The fire wielder had a habit of growing angry and melting candles, blazing infernos in fireplaces, and creating the hottest fireballs ever witnessed within the castle. In fact, a portion of Gwendal's personal finances was set aside for replacement of curtains, wooden tables, and other furnishings. Historically speaking, throwing fire tantrums would be the blond's claim to fame.

They reached the landing where they met a castle guard hurrying his way down. "Sir!" and a salute.

Gwendal gave a distracted nod. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with more.

"We're having a problem, sir. I just noticed huge shards of glass falling past the window where I was standing watch over the grounds."

Murata found himself interested. "How big? If you don't mind my asking…"

A question from Shin Makoku's Great Sage and the soldier straightened his shoulders with that sudden feeling of importance. He was probably a fan—not that Gwendal appreciated it very much. "This big," he measured out with his hands, "and very dangerous for anyone below."

"Thank you," Murata responded quickly and then went around the man. "We'll go investigate. It's not a problem."

"We will?"

Murata could feel Gwendal frowning at his back, but the Mazoku followed him.

Something was up.

.

* * *

.

There was a strange whistling of the wind. Murata could hear a closed door rattling in the frame immediately to their right.

"It's probably that one."

"I'll go in first," Gwendal told him and refused debate. Then again, considering how rough and tumble Gwendal was as a military man, there really was no need for argument. Murata stood patiently behind him and waited for him to open the door.

It swung and remained ajar—allowing Murata to take stock of a dusty room full of old trunks, rolled up carpets, and thread-bare tapestries from long ago. The remnants of a wooden chair were scattered haphazardly across one corner along with shards of a heavy, porcelain jar once used for pickling. A three-legged milking stool was turned over, legs in the air. The large window dominating the far wall had been entirely broken out and the figure of Wolfram von Bielefeld stood before it, arms lifted and angled from his side as though a bird about to take flight.

The blond teetered on his feet, leaning forward and back again—forever staring outward. His bandaged fist was bloodied and dripping to the floor.

Shinou had had that look, too. Before battle, there was that expression. Murata could, even now, see it in his nightmares. What the Original Sage had once thought of as an intriguing, heroic profile only became a harbinger of death and suffering for both sides of conflict.

Necessary evils at that time.

But not needed now.

Murata touched Gwendal's arm. "Be gentle with him."

A strangely curious look down at him.

Murata's glasses flashed and light covered his eyes. "As the _sage_, I'm advising…" There was an emphasis in his voice that he rarely used and the older brother picked up on it.

Gwendal seemed to be recalculating the situation as he stepped further into the room. "Wolfram?" he said, keeping his voice as normal as possible. "Come over here."

Wolfram turned away from the window. Against the brightness of the exterior of the castle, his form was shady. But, as he did as he was told, taking a few steps in their direction, it was plain to see that things had changed. Wolfram's skin was as white as the bandage on his face and his eyes had deep, dark circles under them. The rims were red as though he'd been crying. But, it was impossible for Murata to decipher beyond a doubt. The body's movements were like a puppet—awkward and clumsy, the balance off. Totally wrong. It was sickening for Murata to see just how much Wolfram had deteriorated in only a few short hours.

Glassy green eyes looked from Murata to Gwendal and a coldness filled them.

Another step and then two. Wolfram approached his brother but stayed more than an arm's length away. The distrustful nature surprised Gwendal, surprised them both.

"You…" Wolfram rasped. Yes, he had been crying, Murata decided. Possibly, he'd cried himself out and there was nothing left. Did he hurt that much?

"Wolfram?" Gwendal's brotherly concern was evident now.

"How could you?" The blond's tone turned venomous. "I trusted you! I've always relied on you! Listened to you! How could you let this happen to me?" He shook a bloodied right fist at him.

Gwendal was taken aback by that and, on some level, he seemed hurt but was doing a masterful job of overcoming it. "Calm down before you lose your temper." That was his standard line and it rarely worked.

"Why?" The blond gritted the word.

Gwendal put his hands on his hips, being challenged let him vent—allowing an emotion he was much more comfortable using with his brother. "Because, when you're like this, you have a nasty habit of losing control of your element…or using it to express your ire. Lucky for you, there's not too much here that's flammable or important!"

Inwardly, Murata rolled his eyes at Gwendal. This was not the "be gentle" that he'd just advised. Both brothers had "issues," apparently. And when two strong element users got into disputes like this one, there was always the implied "I'm more in control than you are" and "I'm stronger than you are" followed by a childish "nonny-nonny-boo-boo." Murata decided to stay where he was and to be the only adult in the room.

"Still, Wolfram, I want you to back down! We don't need another fire!"

"Idiot!" Wolfram seethed. "If I had the power to set this room on fire, I would have done it long ago!"

Now, he had Murata's full attention.

"I just can't believe what you've done, Gwendal!"

To that, the older brother's face became stony to the continued emotional display. Murata had seen this enough times over the years. It meant that Gwendal was getting tired of the spectacle and wanted to draw it to a merciful close. And Gwendal was an excellent tactician in this.

"Wolfram, you're not making any sense. Please, rethink what you're saying and doing." Gwendal made a slow grab for his baby brother's shoulder, but the blond somehow managed to avoid it.

"Do you understand _nothing_?" There was an incredulous look on Wolfram's face now. "Didn't you just hear my words?" He backed away with a maniacal laugh suddenly bubbling up from him, as though this thought was the most amazing thing in the world. "Or, shall I _show_ you exactly what I can do?"

"Wolfram, no!" Gwendal barked, having enough. "Rethink this!"

Wolfram met eyes with Murata. "Oh, I think he'd like to see. Am I right, my love?"

Murata could do little more than brace himself for it. And he did—knowing there was nothing else he could do in the time he had. But, if they died, at least, he would be together with Wolfram and the agony would be horrendous but split second. Murata had died before—in many ways—and despised the process more than the result.

"See…?"

Wolfram stretched out a pale left hand, palm up. The thumb and all fingers produced flames that were each no bigger than the flame on a child's birthday candle.

A low, deep chuckling from Wolfram. "That's it. That's all I can do with every ounce of my strength."

Gwendal paled. "You can't be telling the truth."

Wolfram fisted his left hand, making the flames disappear. "It's all I have left."

Murata tried stepping forward now. He reached out for the blond. "Then, let us see Gissela now. We have a treatment plan to discuss…"

Wolfram shook his head and backed away. "No…" And, turning on a dime, his eyes flared at Gwendal once more. "And I'm still furious with you! I'm not going anywhere!"

Murata steepled his hands and tried to draw on as much of his memories, his knowledge, that he had left. "Then, we are listening. Tell us…"

Wolfram began pacing the room, seeming more like a caged tiger than his usual self. The clumsy gait was hard to watch, but Murata made himself do it. He was involved in this somehow. His instincts told him so.

"Last night, when my _husband_ and I went to our room to sleep, all of my things were gone."

Gwendal flashed Murata a harsh look. "The two of you _slept_ together?"

Wolfram curled a lip at that, his expression bitter. 'Why not, Gwendal? Wouldn't it be natural since we are supposedly married?"

_Supposedly? Oh, no…_ Murata covered his mouth absently with his palm. This was not good.

Green eyes flashed a hurt look at Murata. "I was told that all of my things were out for cleaning. So, later on today, when I was coming to our bedroom, I could hear voices. I noticed the maids were making up the bed. I thought it the perfect time to find out when they'd be returning my possessions. But, before I got to the door, guess what I found out?"

The sarcasm was dripping, vented at them both.

"Please forgive us," Murata said, trying to end this quickly only to have Wolfram wag a finger at him. "Oh, no…_my love_… I'm not finished."

The blond fire wielder gave a sidelong glance and resumed his pacing, reliving the moment. "I stood by the door and could hear everything. EVERYTHING!" He turned on his heel and faced Gwendal. "I am not married to him!"

Murata could only look down at his feet when the accusing finger pointed in his direction.

"No! I'm not married to The Great Sage of Shin Makoku. And, do you want to know what? I'm not even _married_!" There was a mixture of hurt and anger, eyes shining with tears again. "I'm engaged to…to Yuuri Heika of all people! To him!" Wolfram ran his left hand through his hair roughly for a second, a disbelieving look on his face. "And, guess what? He doesn't even _like_ men! So, I'm alone either way!" He shook his head disbelievingly.

"Wolfram, I'm sorry," Gwendal told him and the tone said that he truly was. "We were waiting for you to get stronger before you found out the truth."

"You're the head of the house, Gwendal," Wolfram cried. "Why would you let me be engaged to Yuuri Heika…someone who doesn't even want me? They say he can't even stand me! Politically, in the long run, it makes no sense. He'll grow a backbone someday, see reason, and toss me aside. Worse yet, a one-sided love is embarrassing to our family and the House of Bielefeld."

Wolfram resumed pacing while gritting out, "This is all your fault… Oh, honorable brother of mine."

Now, Murata could see Gwendal struggling with his own temper again. "We tried and tried, Wolfram. Over the past four years, we have had meeting after meeting with you." His face tensed up at the memories, knuckles white when he clinched them. "I've tried, Conrad has…"

Murata raised an eyebrow at that. It had to have hurt that Conrad had become involved. Wolfram was so jealous of his "perfect" relationship with their king.

"Mother has tried…"

_Ouch…they brought out the big guns _ the sage thought.

"Nothing has worked and you've clung to him stubbornly…chasing him down the hall every single day. That is not worthy of a man of your breeding. It's low."

Wolfram nodded angrily. "Oh, yes… It seems that rumor has it I've switched from Yuuri Heika to our Great Sage here because I have a taste for men with dark hair, dark eyes, and slim stature. Then again, the maids think that I'll let any man _bed me_…all I have to do is take off my clothes, lie back, and let…"

"Don't be crude!" Gwendal barked, cutting him off. "That is not the way a 'Lord von Bielefeld' behaves."

Another dark laugh. "And, for the record, Gwendal, I'm not a knight at all. Apparently, I'm just some…and I quote… 'low level lord' who lives off the graces of his high ranking brother and lusty mother. Even my Uncle Waltorana, whoever he is, is ashamed of me…"

"You don't remember him?" Murata asked, now suddenly standing behind Wolfram. The blond turned in a flash, bloodied fist clinched and bleeding again.

"I don't." The voice was still angry, but Murata could see that he was growing tired and some part of him wanted to stop this. He just didn't know how.

"I'm having memory problems, too. I've been suffering for a while."

Wolfram's eyes widened and the sage was pleased to see that love was still there—despite the anger, disappointment, and disillusionment.

"My memory is all I'm good for," Murata told him, sounding slightly pathetic. But the truth was the truth. "If I've lost that, I have nothing. My purpose for living is gone."

The blond shook his head, disagreeing. "No," he put a hand to his head, "you're more than that. Much more…"

Murata reached out his arms and gently took Wolfram in, folding his arms and cradling. Here and in this moment, this was the best medicine for Wolfram. This was what his soul needed above all else. "And you are more than a pretty face or a body to keep a bed warm. And I don't, personally, care for titles or privilege… You are you."

Wolfram buried his face in the side of Murata's neck. "Everything I know is a lie," he sighed miserably.

The sage patted his back. "Well, if they are lies, then they are beautiful lies."

.

.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

.

.

Two days had passed since the ceremony in The White Room and the ensuing rush to concoct the elixir which would heal them both. Wolfram, as Murata instructed, had been taken away by carriage back to Blood Pledge Castle. "I, however, wish to remain in The White Room a little longer," he explained to the shrine maidens assigned to attend him. "I'll sleep on my cot for a few more nights." He glanced at the bed the women had set up for him to rest. It was simple, but would do. "My body, I suspect, will take days more to heal."

Actually, it wasn't the healing he needed so much as a chance to forget everything.

At first, Murata didn't care how long he slept. He just wanted to—to "recharge" and to "let go," for as long as he could. To allow everything that had come to pass escape him. But, much to his chagrin, his memories started to emerge when his mind drifted and he was swiftly becoming "himself" again.

"Just when I was at the point of being fine with knowing nothing," he murmured to no one only to open his eyes and see a fuzzy image of Shinou peering over at him. This was not what he wanted. "Go away." And, with that, Murata rolled onto his side, back facing The Original King.

"Please yourself," Shinou said, slightly amused. "But I think that you can hide here for only so long."

There was a pause and then an annoyed "I'm _not_ hiding."

"Hmmm… So, you say…" Shinou's voice was a little further off this time. "Still, your presence will be needed at the castle soon. Rest here…but not for too long…"

Murata slowly sat up in the cot, wary of Shinou's vague message. "Why?" The Original King only prodded him these days when something amused him or when he had insight into an action that had to be done immediately. Consequences could be dire should nothing be done.

The Original King's shadowy form made its way toward the door even though Shinou really didn't need them. "See for yourself."

"Why?" he asked again while reaching beneath his cot for his glasses. They were on a silver tray along with his wallet and other small personal items.

"Seek and understand."

He could be maddening sometimes. "Damn you, Shinou."

"You're welcome."

.

* * *

.

An unpleasantly rushed, tepid bath provided by the temple and a ride on a rambling horse with his own damp hair clinging to the back of his neck didn't really change Murata's disagreeable mood all that much. But, he had to, at least, appear pleasant once he got there. Thus, was the image of The Great Sage in this generation. And he had to play the part well.

The heavy wooden door closed behind him and he decided to let his mood go little by little with each step. Murata, this time, wearing his usual maddeningly affable smile on his face, walked down the main hall at Blood Pledge Castle. He had missed lunch—a pity because he could still smell the enticing scent of roasted duck. He would have to drop by the kitchen later to see if anyone could make him a sandwich with the leftovers. That would, indeed, be nice. A brief sniff of the air. _Apple cinnamon cookies…_ A seasonal favorite. Yes, he'd like some of those, too.

He smiled pleasantly each time he met eyes with someone—maids with mops and buckets, members of Wolfram's Elite Guard going back to the barracks, and gardeners with their wide brimmed sunhats. Castle guards on duty were no less the same. They all gave him long looks—each face different, each expression dissimilar. But, without a doubt, the sage knew, he was ripe for gossip fodder just by being there again.

A part of himself thought he didn't deserve this. Another part decided to just go along with it. Too bad he was walking alone. If he was found with someone interesting (from the viewpoint of the gossipers) to be with, that would make life very entertaining, indeed. Murata smirked a little. Too bad Anissina or Conrad wasn't around. Now, with either one, there would be an unusual pairing. After all, no one would buy him playing around with Gunther.

He smiled inwardly, imagining the inanity, until…

"Cheater! What were you thinking?!"

"No, Wolf! Wait! I wasn't cheating. I just bumped into her in the hall."

Feet were stomping hard in his direction and Murata suddenly felt sick inside. _Not this soon. I'm not really ready. I'm not even sure what kind of face I should show them._

"Yuuri, I saw you! You did that on purpose!"

"What?!"

The sage stiffened and light flashed over his glasses, hiding his eyes. It would be any minute now.

A black blur streaked past Murata in the hallway. From the fleeting shape, it was more than obvious who it was. "Oi! Hi, Murata!" the double black called over his shoulder as he ran, elbows pumping hard. There was a boyish glee there that was unmistakable. Yuuri's athletic build was working in his favor now. He was gaining speed and his profile showed how proud he was of himself.

He turned a corner.

More stomping—the sound of booted feet this time. And, now, a blue uniformed blond came into view. "I'm talking to you, Yu-" and then he came to a sudden halt, almost falling over as he did so—boots not gripping the floor as well as he was banking on.

Murata forced a smile on his face. He needed to do this—for both of them. "You are doing well. I am pleased to see this," he said in his most formal, High Mazoku tongue. Surely, that would satisfy the blond fire wielder.

Wolfram simply stared, fixed and frozen.

"Your face has healed nicely and your hand seems better…no scars…," he went on, hoping to start a civil conversation that would end up far more comfortable than this awkward beginning. He was doing all the talking, after all. "You are healthy again."

Nothing and Murata looked at him with growing uneasiness.

The blond shook his head slowly, barely breathing, and his eyes filled with tears. His mind was searching for something—desperately. "…K-Ken…?" Wolfram lowered his head, seemingly defeated. "_Ken, how_…?" in a trembling voice.

Briefly, he covered his mouth with an unsteady hand.

_Ken?_ Murata worried. _He just called me 'Ken."_ Something cold ran through the sage's blood. It wasn't supposed to be this way. With the ceremony, with the potion—everything was supposed to go back to the way things were before. "I shouldn't have come back if it upsets you so," Murata told him, easing away. "I'll go now. I'm sorry."

A broken "No!" and the blond grabbed his forearm, holding him fast and hard. "Please…just please…"

It was a painful grip, but Murata chose not to react to it. It wasn't necessary. The sage stared down at his arm and, immediately, Wolfram released him with a shaking hand. Seemingly not knowing what to do with himself, the blond folded his arms against his chest and turned to Murata with a heartbroken expression.

"It is fine," the sage promised, trying to pacify.

"No, it isn't." His words were barely above a whisper.

"I see…" Murata put a friendly arm around Wolfram's shoulders, drawing him in. They were practically face to face now. It was so hard being close to him again, to smell his scent and to feel that vibrant soul. But, he knew. He knew. "Listen…" And green eyes met his. "It's okay to leave me."

A single tear slipped from his eye. "N-No."

Murata turned Wolfram's face slightly, smudged the tear away with his thumb, and then motioned towards a blind corner. Yuuri's head was just now peeking out around it and the young double black had a very troubled frown coming to him.

"Look," Murata said, "he's come back for you. Everything is fine again."

Wolfram's body shook slightly and Murata knew he would have to help him through the next few moments—step by step.

The double black approached them both, not hiding his emotions at all. Could he ever? But, before he could say anything, Murata told him, "I think the three of us should take tea in the rose garden. Wouldn't that be fun?" The sage met eyes with Wolfram. "It would be, right?"

Wolfram nodded vaguely and Murata decided to take advantage of it. "Then, would you mind leading the way?" He intentionally left off calling him by name and would do so for the time being. He motioned to Yuuri to join him as they walked behind Wolfram toward the outer doors which would take them to the rose garden.

Luckily for Murata, that particular door was at the end of a long corridor.

As Wolfram walked, Murata noticed that he tried to wipe his face with his sleeve as casually as he could.

The edge of the sleeve came back wet.

_He's crying._

Switching to Japanese, Murata did his best to keep his voice even and to sound as conversational as he could. "Shibuya, there is something I think you should know."

Yuuri's black eyes moved from Wolfram's back to Murata. "What is it?" It had to be something serious for them to discuss it in Japanese this way. The two of them often used the language as a kind of secret code after meetings when they didn't want to be overheard by the castle dwellers or foreign dignitaries lingering around. After all, Blood Pledge Castle always had eyes and ears everywhere. They were eager to "stir the pot" or to stretch the truth more than a little.

Murata glanced forward and murmured. "It's him."

A brief nod of the head. "I thought so. What's upsetting him?"

Murata's face became serious. "He's breaking."

Yuuri's eyes widened impossibly. "I noticed something was off about him over the last few days and that he wasn't eating or sleeping well. But I thought after the ceremony everything would go back to normal…eventually."

"It did for me."

"But not for him?"

"Apparently. But, it's not from his lack of trying."

Yuuri cringed. "What do we do now?"

Murata put his hands behind his back and thought about it while he followed Wolfram. "Well, it's a problem, isn't it?"

"I don't understand."

Murata glanced at his friend but kept going. "He's not as he was before. He can't let go. He's been through too much. He's 'breaking' because his heart is telling him to choose between us. He feels conflicted and he's certain that, in the end, he will windup alone."

The double black swallowed hard at the blunt news.

They walked on with the door in sight at the far end of the hallway. Wolfram coughed slightly to mask a sob. Murata wasn't deceived. It was all Wolfram could do to hold on right now.

"I know you care for him, Shibuya. I don't know if it is 'love' just yet. But, I know that your feelings run deep. He's in your heart and you would do anything for him."

Yuuri blushed at that, not denying it at all.

"Yes, I know," Murata told him, "but there is something you should know as well." Now was the time to confess it. "I care for him, too."

"Wha-?" Yuuri's jaw dropped more than a little. "Both of us…?" and, silently, he pointed at Wolfram.

Murata stared at Wolfram's back. It was a little easier that way. "I've been in love before…in my past lives, I mean. I've experienced this feeling enough times to recognize it. Though, I must say that 'love' feels a little differently in each lifetime and with each partner. It has an individual 'flavor,' so to speak."

"Then, you're right… I guess, we both care about him. And this really is a problem," Yuuri agreed, fidgeting with his fingers. Murata could tell he was feeling a mixture of conflicting emotions—probably identifying with Wolfram's feelings a lot more right now. "Too bad Wolfram can't marry both of us," he said without really focusing on what he was saying.

Yuuri tended to be like that.

Murata frowned. "As the groom? It's impossible…considering his social standing as a lord and the fact that you are a king and I am The Great Sage. It would be the height of arrogance for him to even go along with such a proposal." Murata shifted his glasses with a finger. "He loves us both…passionately, but not without reason. For the sake of decorum alone, he'd never listen to a word of it." Wolfram wiped his cheek with the same sleeve, the sage noticed. It made something tighten in Murata's chest. "And, if pushed to his limits, I don't know what he would do to release himself from this pain."

"You've been 'broken' before," Yuuri reminded him. "What did you do?" Maybe, there was an answer there.

For the first time in their relationship, Murata gave his closest friend a lonely, almost haunted, expression. The double black was taken aback.

"Do you want the truth or a lie?" Then, Murata gave a harsh sigh to himself. This wasn't the kind of thing one should discuss. "On second thought, forget what I just said."

"I'm sorry," the double black told him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder and giving a gentle squeeze. "Then…let's look at it another way…" Yuuri scratched the side of his cheek a little, thinking hard. "It would be impossible for a _lord_…but not for a _king_. Would it? Marriage, I mean?"

"The three of us…together?"

Murata's eyes smiled. Yes, the thought had crossed his mind, too, but he had been determined not to bring it up. He was still the sage to a king. It was about time he started acting like one again. But, Murata knew that he could be a little bit selfish, too, and very human in this lifetime.

"That would be allowed," he told him. "In such a ceremony, you would be marrying two spouses at once. One would be assigned international dealings while the other would be assigned to more domestic duties within the castle. Not a bad division of labor, mind you, in terms of your eternal stack of paperwork." He glanced at Yuuri and back again. "But I would caution you…" Murata said as Wolfram paused and opened the door for both of them to pass through.

"What?" Yuuri murmured quickly. Was there another problem?

"That if you are not entirely sincere in this venture, you will have more than one set of hopes dashed."

Yuuri scratched the back of his head. "Huh? I don't follow."

Murata smiled as they neared the table where they'd taken tea many times over the years. "What I'm saying is that you would be married to me, too." There was a wry smile accompanying it with a slightly flirtatious lilt to his voice now.

"Oh…" Yuuri grinned sheepishly, a hand behind his head now. "Well, if it's you, Murata…only you… I mean, it feels like we've always been together anyway. It's comfortable and I've always kind of liked you. We've been through so much...you know."

"Really?" Murata couldn't resist the question, testing Yuuri's veracity. If this new direction was taken out of pure guilt, nothing would work out well in the end.

"Yeah."

"In all of my lives, I've never had a 'happily ever after' and I'd like a taste of that just once." He smiled mysteriously over to Yuuri. "With you and Wolfram, I would enjoy that immensely…if _you're sure_ this is what you _absolutely_ want." He added that last part with emphasis, prodding a little. The double black had designed and agreed to this plan far too easily for his tastes.

"I heard you speak my name," Wolfram said distractedly as he pulled a chair out for Yuuri to sit down. "I don't understand Earth language, but I know enough to listen for my name…" Green eyes looked to the sage—a warmth and a sadness there. "This time, my first name..."

He raised an eyebrow. "Unhappy that I said it?"

"No," Wolfram replied, making his voice sound the way it usually did. But the stress was there, nonetheless.

"Ah, then there's something you should be aware of. We've come to an understanding," Murata whispered to him as Wolfram pulled out a chair for him, too.

Green eyes held an almost fearful look to them now. But Wolfram took a chair and forced himself to relax in it. Doria had seen them and was standing before them now. Murata noticed that she seemed a little nervous at the blond's expression. "Tea for three and whatever cakes or cookies that you have," the blond ordered without really caring. "That will be all."

"Right away." A curtsey and she left for the kitchen, not looking back.

"So," Wolfram said, waiting for the hammer to fall on him, "what have the two of you decided? Is it regarding me?" His voice sounded much weaker than when Murata had heard it in the hallway earlier.

"Yes," Yuuri told him, hoping to ease Wolfram's fears by using a kind tone. It had the opposite effect, however.

"I see…" He glanced at Murata. "Your advice, I take it."

With a smirk, Murata shifted his chair to one side and placed an affectionate arm around Wolfram's shoulders, much to his surprise. Yuuri, taking his cue, did the same thing. The blond was now between his two loves and found himself red-faced despite his best efforts. It was also too cruel in a way. Still, he could endure it. "What have you decided?" he asked dryly.

"We intend to court you…privately," Murata's tone became low and incredibly sexy.

Green eyes immediately turned to Yuuri to see if this was true. "Seriously? Is this real? And did he just say… '_we'_?"

Outwardly a little sheepish, but just as resolute, "If you don't mind…we'd like to…"

Blond eyebrows pushed together in confusion. A lackluster, "Why?"

"Why not?" Murata answered wryly. "Are you opposed? Can you name a single reason why you cannot have secret _tête-à-têtes_ with the two of us?"

Wolfram gave a confused look. "Ummm… '_tête-à-têtes'?" _not understanding the word.

Putting his lips to a shell-like ear, the sage quietly translated it as closely as he could and Wolfram folded his arms against his chest with a disbelieving "humph." He said, "You use an old Mazoku word for 'chat' that as certain…_implications_." Green eyes grew slightly suspicious. "Are you aware of that? Certainly, you must be."

"Should I have used 'tryst' or something more modern?" he charmed lightly. Yes, Murata knew that he was well versed in the carefully choreographed rules of romance in this world even if Yuuri didn't know a single step. "So, is that a 'yes' I'm hearing from you?"

"Both of you…?" he repeated, still trying to wrap his mind around the concept.

Yuuri gave a hopeful look.

"I suppose… I'm fine with it." But this seemed all too new and much too fast for him to grasp at the moment. The pain from before was easy. This, apparently not. It was too perplexing. "But why the sudden change of heart…both of you? And what would happen should Gwendal find out?"

Unfazed, Murata leaned in even more and whispered, "Don't dwell on that."

"An easy answer for you. He's my brother."

A chuckle from Murata. "And, should all go well and you accept our affections, we would like you to consider an honorable marriage." The sage steepled his fingers and watched to see the reaction.

Predictably, a totally astounded look met him. "Marriage? What are you thinking?" It didn't end there. He went on, "And, not only that, I'm already engaged to…" He elbowed Yuuri in the ribs without really meaning to. There was an "oof."

Typical Yuuri.

He whispered harshly, as though divulging a secret, "You're asking the impossible."

Murata grinned and cocked his head to the side. "Legally speaking, he'll be the groom and we will be the spouses wedded into the royal house." He picked up Wolfram's hand and gently rubbed his thumb across the knuckles—a sign of fondness in this world. "A triad wedding. It has been awhile since our country has seen one. You'll be fine with that, right?"

The blond turned to Yuuri for confirmation. "But, you don't like me."

Muata watched Yuuri's face. _That had to have hurt him._

"Come on, Wolf," Yuuri said with an indulgent smile but still struggling with something sad within his heart. "You know you want to. You've always talked about it."

Wolfram bit his lower lip slightly. "And you've always denied it. Isn't that so?" The words hurt—hurt so much. His eyes revealed it. "This scheme is ludicrous," the blond told himself, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "Giving you your freedom would be a kinder thing, I think, than allowing you to give in and offer marriage to me, Yuuri… Ignore whatever reasons that have forced you against your will to agree to this nonsensical arrangement." End things now for the better. And, on some level, releasing him was a simpler thing even if his heart was rebelling against the idea.

"End our engagement? Says who?" Yuuri asked lightly, trying to be charming in his own clumsy way.

Wolfram looked at him sincerely, no wrath and no rage. "Everyone…believe it or not."

Trying again, Murata told Wolfram, "Please consider what we are offering. But there is something you have to do in return." And, to that, the fire wielder released a tense breath. "I knew it." He turned to him with a new flame in his eyes. "This is some kind of joke or some kind of Earth trick that I'm allowing myself to get trapped into." His pained face returned saying, "What a fool I was to even hope."

The double black leaned behind Wolfram and gave Murata an almost panicked expression. How could it go this badly right off the bat? But, Murata had foreseen this and knew that he could put those fears to rest. Best of all, he knew exactly how.

Wolfram was about to get up when he felt a strong tug around the wrist. Murata had him, a warm and insistent hold. "Listen to me. The only thing you have to do, _Wolf_…my _Wolf_…"

The blond's face softened. He dearly loved that nickname Yuuri had given him years ago and the way Murata had just said it.

"And I do mean 'the only thing'," the sage emphasized, "is to give up this idea of having to choose between loving _Yuuri_ and loving me. And I know the thought has been upsetting you as of late. You're torn."

Again, Wolfram's eyes widened and then he glanced to his left, taking in the double black. The sage never called him "Yuuri." It was always "Shibuya"—just that. That was how they always were together.

The double black quirked a grin. "Yes, _Ken_. I think you are right. But, he's my _Wolf_, too. So, when do we begin this 'secret courting' of our _Wolf_? And where should it be?"

Murata didn't have to think about it for very long. Doria was approaching them with a silver tray with tea, small sugar topped cakes, and apple cinnamon cookies. "Right about now, I think."

Underneath the table, they all held hands. And, to that, Wolfram looked to his left and his right. Then, he smiled within his heart. Maybe, miracles were real after all.

Maybe, he could trust this.


End file.
